Lelouch of the South
by arbutus blooms
Summary: AU. Lelouch leads a fairly normal college life in Boston - at least until his dysfunctional Southern family summons him back to his hometown of Atlanta to help them bury an obscure relative who nobody knows. As the Buckley family reunites for an entire week in seemingly mutual mourning, years of secrecy threaten to surface and shatter the veneer of gentility.
1. Day One

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Code Geass or any other products mentioned in this story.

**Warnings:** How many warnings can a story have, let me count the ways. Dark (and dry) humor, political incorrectness, sexual themes, some OOC-ness, weird pairings, language, and overly specific references to Atlanta. This is also relatively unbeta'd.

**Notes:** This... is a first for me. I thought it would be interesting to approach the Imperial Family's dynamic from an "extremely Southern family" perspective. Apparently this is what happened. If the writing is a little weird, that is intentional. Probably. By the by, I had to change the surname of "Britannia" into **Buckley.** "Britannia" didn't sound Southern enough.

* * *

It was during lunchtime that Lelouch received the phone call from Euphemia. She said that their Uncle Vladimir from Bulgaria had recently passed away from an unexpected heart attack, that they were arranging and paying for the funeral, and that Lelouch was to return to Atlanta if he knew what was good for him – their father's words, not hers.

"And if you have a girlfriend," Euphemia said, "bring her."

So Lelouch packed his bags and his girlfriend's bags.

Lelouch was from Atlanta, but he currently attended college in Boston, out of his own volition. He tried not to tell anyone he was from the South, and if they began to suspect he was actually related to his father, he told them that Buckley was a common last name and that he was actually from Virginia. Nobody except for his girlfriend and the hardcore Business major conspiracy theorists knew he was from Atlanta.

Clara Carter, his girlfriend, was not thrilled. "We have to go to Atlanta for a week? Why?"

Lelouch met Clara Carter during their freshman year. She was a Bostonian with a New York family whose voice was an unholy combination between the New York and South Boston dialects; her name sounded like "Clarah Cahtah" whenever she said it. She was of Italian descent. She had some misconceptions about the South and banjos after watching _Deliverance_.

"The family has to bury an uncle," Lelouch said. In truth, he wasn't entirely sure who Uncle Vladimir from Bulgaria was, or why he was important enough for his father to cover his funeral costs. "I don't want to go either, if that makes you feel any better."

"Then why are you?" Clara Carter demanded. Clara Carter was accustomed to blowing off family gatherings on a whim, much like everyone else in her family.

"Because that's just the way my family works," Lelouch retorted. "Look, when we go, try not open your big mouth and say something rude, okay? My family is a little nuts, and they aren't used to people speaking their mind."

"Your family sounds like it sucks," she said.

"'Sucks' isn't the right way to put it," Lelouch said.

**. . .**

Lelouch's father was Charles Buckley, a wildly successful textbook case of rags to riches who made his base in Atlanta. Charles had about as many companies as he did children, which was awfully convenient in his old age because he could just fork over the companies to the next child that graduated from college.

Charles was from a poor farmer family in rural Mississippi. At the age 12 ½, Charles hitchhiked to Atlanta and made his living selling newspapers, puppies, and scavenged shoes from the trash. Somehow from these incredibly humble beginnings, he was able to build his business empire and marry at least six different women in the process of doing so.

One of these women had been Lelouch's mother, Marianne Buckley née Devereux. Marianne was from Oregon. She met Charles when he was on a skiing trip in Colorado, and they wound up getting married when she challenged his masculinity. They divorced shortly thereafter because Charles was annoyed with her entirely too successful attempts to improve the lives of the residents of the Buckley household. So he divorced her and married Euphemia's mom. And then he got bored with her and went back to Marianne, which was how Nunnally was born. When Nunnally was 15, their mother died in a freak boating accident on Lake Lanier.

Marianne was everything that Charles was not. She was free-spirited and free-thinking. She attracted the Buckley children to her. She was sweet and kind.

And that explained why Charles Buckley didn't like Lelouch and why Lelouch had to move to Boston.

**. . .**

Hartsfield-Jackson hadn't changed much. It was still dumpy and too busy, but at least Euphemia's beau understood the feeling well.

"Yeah, I hate traveling now," Euphemia's boyfriend, Suzaku, said with a sheepish grin. "It's so different from what I'm used to in California."

Euphemia met them at the luggage carousel in hot pink yoga attire, and she dragged along her Japanese boyfriend from California to greet them. His name was Suzaku Kuru-something. They'd been together for a while, but Euphemia had avoided introducing Suzaku to the family up until this point. In Lelouch's opinion, he looked too nice. He proved this when he walked over to the luggage carousel and lifted both of their overstuffed suitcases off the rotating belt at the same time "just to be nice."

"Isn't he a doll?" Euphemia asked dreamily. "He's my knight in shining armor."

Clara Carter looked flabbergasted when she heard Euphemia's voice. "Christ, it's like you coat all your words in marmalade!" she said.

"Oh, well," Euphemia fanned herself and giggled in a ladylike manner, "thank you, darling. I didn't catch your name. You are?"

"Clara Carter," Clara Carter said. She then followed up her introduction with a brief synopsis of her Italian New York family that lived in Boston. "…And that's why I talk so differently from youse guys."

"I think it's charming," Euphemia said with a smile. "I've always loved New England accents. They are so _unique!_"

"Thanks," Clara Carter said. "Your voice sounds like you drink syrup for breakfast."

**. . .**

Suzaku suggested that they stop by a coffee shop after the airport, his treat. But Euphemia shook her head.

"The family is waiting for us at the luncheon," she told him.

"What luncheon?" Lelouch asked.

"The pre-funeral planning family reunion luncheon," Euphemia replied. "It's at Schneizel's house."

Schneizel was not the person Lelouch wanted to see on his first day back in Atlanta.

"Euphy, I…" Suzaku began, his overly cheerful demeanor vanishing in an instant, "I don't really _want_ to meet your family."

"It's about Daddy, isn't it?" Euphemia asked.

Their father hated anyone who wasn't a white Anglo Saxon Protestant that lived in the Deep South and made good money. Few exceptions were made for this rule. Suzaku and Clara Carter were probably not going to be exceptions.

"I just don't know if I can handle it," Suzaku admitted, downcast. "I mean, I'm kind of used to it, but, it's just, I want to get along with your father—"

"Don't worry about it, Suzaku," Euphemia said with a bright little smile on her face. "He's almost dead anyway."

**. . .**

Schneizel ran the family advertising firm and made it even more prestigious than it already was by using his excessive charm to put the company on the world stage. The regular clientele now included major European fashion houses, car manufacturers, and robotics companies from Japan with wacky names. He was the favorite of their father. He was tall and Aryan, blending his German mother's good looks and his father's stature. He lived in a large, tastefully-decorated house in a gated Buckhead neighborhood near the Governor's mansion. His wife was a wealthy and cultured Virginian of French descent. It seemed ideal enough.

He was also incredibly obnoxious and pretentious and Lelouch couldn't stand him.

Schneizel liked Lelouch, or at least pretended to. They used to play chess when they were younger, when Schneizel would come over to Marianne's house for his intensive German lessons. They shared similar intellectual interests and tastes. When Lelouch left for college, Schneizel inherited the advertising firm, so they didn't talk that much – not that Lelouch _wanted_ to, mind you, because Schneizel was one of the reasons he had fled Georgia.

Anyway, the family wouldn't let it die that they had once – _once_ – been nearly inseparable and had actually, genuinely gotten along before Lelouch realized how obnoxious his brother actually was.

Euphemia smiled at him as they parked the car in front of Schneizel's house. "Maybe you two can play chess, like old times."

"I don't even want to set foot inside of his house," Lelouch complained.

They walked up to the porch and rang the doorbell. Clovis answered it. "Why, it's dearest Euphy! And Lelouch! And, er, your guests!" He gave hugs to his family members and shook the hands of Clara Carter and Suzaku. "Welcome, welcome! Come in, come in! Schneizel's in the living room, speaking with some old flames—I mean, friends. Pardon me." He laughed at his own joke. "In all seriousness, the way those women are looking at him is _un_sightly! They should know that Cecile won't let them get near _her_ man."

Clovis Buckley was a graduate of Savannah College of Art and Design and a renowned and versatile designer. He designed everything from cutting-edge designer homes to women's lingerie to coat racks for the fabulously wealthy. He lived in an expensive loft in Little Five Points, his new creative muse ever since Marianne Buckley née Devereux had died in a freak boating accident on Lake Lanier.

As they all shuffled into the house, Clovis planted a hand on Lelouch's shoulder. "By the way, I heard. I am _so_ sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Lelouch asked, trying to shake off Clovis' hand. He didn't much care for Clovis. He was a bit of a wimp.

"Dad wasn't going to foot a hotel bill for you and your girlfriend," Clovis said apologetically. "So we pulled straws. I was going to have you, but something came up and now I have to move. To make a long story short, well… you're staying with Schneizel."

**. . .**

Staying with Schneizel was not as idyllic as it sounded. This was not merely an issue of formerly compatible personalities drifting apart due to age, experience, and bitterness. There would be no reconciliations. This had now ventured into the territory of family secrets.

There were some things that the Buckley children did that were meant to be kept a secret from their father, who would have declared such actions blasphemous. Nobody particularly wanted to amend their blasphemous ways, but nobody wanted to be disinherited.

Schneizel's blasphemous secret dealt with his sex life.

Like his mother, Schneizel was an oversexed, well-endowed force of nature. He went through more women in 3 years than his father did in 20. Unfortunately, their father believed that Schneizel's German art critic mother's lusty urges and voluptuous wiles were blasphemous and probably indicative of demonic possession. So to avoid an exorcism, Schneizel kept his numerous liaisons with women a secret from their father while semi-pretending to look for a suitable wife. He wound up scaring away or getting bored with most of his girlfriends because they couldn't keep up.

And that was where Schneizel's Virginian wife of French descent came into play.

Schneizel met his wife seven years ago in a pharmaceutical convenience store when she hit him up for a one night stand while she was buying toothpaste. In the morning, once they realized that they were actually satisfied for once, they decided that they should see each other more often.

Somehow, after that, they wound up falling madly in love and getting married, in that order.

**. . .**

The name of Schneizel's equally lusty Virginian wife of French descent was Cecile Buckley née Charpentier.

She looked normal enough, a bit on the mousy side. She was an epidemiologist at the Center for Disease Control. She was also an excellent housewife, with the exception of her abysmal cooking skills. She dressed well because of Schneizel's connections to haute couture houses. She spoke French fluently and hailed from a wealthy family.

She impressed the socks off of their father.

Lelouch didn't dislike her, actually. Despite being as oversexed as Schneizel, Lelouch would call her Schneizel's better half if he felt particularly optimistic. He didn't today, but at least Cecile realized he didn't want to be hugged and instead offered him some vegan hors d'oeuvres when he first saw her.

"Don't tell Charles they're vegan," she told him as he was munching on the spinachy bit of heaven. Lelouch's father was prejudiced against vegans and vegetarianism in general. He claimed it was left-wing demon gastro-occultism. "By the way, Schneizel's over there."

Lelouch pretended he didn't hear her and perused the lineup of catered hors d'oeuvres. As previously mentioned, Cecile couldn't cook, but Schneizel had the benefit of multiple connections and a lot of money to compensate for his oh-so-beloved wife's lack of culinary finesse. Lelouch grabbed some oysters off one of the heated containers.

"I didn't know you liked oysters," a voice said from behind him. When Lelouch turned around, he was met with Cornelia's sharply imposing visage.

Cornelia was Euphemia's older biological sister and a child conceived out of wedlock between Analisa de Chaplain and Charles Buckley. Despite technically being illegitimate and the reason Schneizel's mother now only spoke to him through postcards written entirely in German, she got along with Schneizel well. Cornelia ran a broadcasting company that was co-owned by their family. She was set up to marry a son from the other co-founder's family, but he died in a freakish circus incident and Cornelia married her bookish husband Gilbert Gammond instead.

In any case, Lelouch didn't much care for Cornelia.

"I took a liking to them after moving to Boston," he said, grabbing an oyster fork nearby and scooping the slimy gray tissue out of its shell. "Lots of shellfish up there."

Cornelia sighed. "I'm sorry about your rooming situation." Every Buckley child knew each of their siblings' dirty secrets.

"Yeah, why didn't you just take me and Clara?" Lelouch asked. He immediately regretted doing so as Cornelia's expression became uncomfortable. "Don't tell me."

"There's a game on Sunday," she admitted. "The Tigers versus the Bulldogs."

**. . .**

Cornelia's dark and terrible secret was that she was an Auburn fan in a family that had long supported the University of Georgia Bulldogs. In retrospect, it wasn't a sacrilegious offense on the same level as possibly being possessed by a demonic satyr incubus, but to their father, they were one and the same. There was an old family tale that when Cornelia was young and still not legitimized, she witnessed her father come visit her and her mother at home clothed in robes and smelling of burnt wood. When her mother, Analisa de Chaplain, asked where he'd been, he replied, "Tiger hunting."

So that settled that.

Gilbert didn't really care which team won when it came to the Tigers or the Bulldogs, but he still told Charles he was a die-hard Bulldogs fan and bought a lot of UGA memorabilia to spare himself from a painful castration. In any case, Lelouch had heard from Euphemia who had heard from Schneizel who heard from Cecile who heard from the cousin of a best friend of the vice president of the broadcasting firm that Cornelia ran that Cornelia's sex life depended entirely on whether or not the Auburn Tigers won a football game. And her husband, Gilbert Gammond, played along with it because it finally granted him a chance to display his impressive sexual machismo – those were the words of the cousin of the best friend of the vice president, not Lelouch's.

Anyway, staying in Cornelia's house with the looming knowledge that she would be watching Sunday football naked with her husband was much worse than staying with Schneizel, in a way. Maybe it was because Lelouch half-expected that Schneizel would become a pompous oversexed German maniac.

**. . .**

Clara Carter broke him out of his trance when she walked up to him with a plate full of home-cooked Southern hors d'oeuvres. "These fried green tomatoes are wicked tasty," she said in her jarring accent. Cornelia, who had an authoritative Southern accent, looked expectedly jarred. "Oh, hey, how ya doin'. I'm Clara Carter, Lelouch's girlfriend." She stuck out her greasy hand in greeting.

"Cornelia Buckley," Cornelia said, gingerly shaking Clara Carter's hand. "You must be Lelouch's girlfriend from Boston that we heard about."

"Yup," Clara Carter said, wiping her hands on a napkin. "I am. It's nice to finally meet youse guys."

Cornelia wasn't even sure how to reply to that. Luckily – or maybe unluckily – Clovis walked up to them. "Cecile, honey, those people gathered around Schneizel are getting _really_ creepy. They're all touching him and fondling him and all that. You might want to re-establish your claim."

Cecile laughed politely. "Oh Clovis, you joker." She walked through Schneizel's line of vision anyway and Lelouch could have sworn he saw her make a little sign to her husband.

"Oh, Cornelia, are you meeting Clara?" Clovis asked candidly, noticing the two women. "Isn't her green hair just darlin'?"

"Very," Cornelia mumbled.

"I was just thinking she might make a wonderful model. Clara, sweetie, how'd you like to model for one of my paintings?"

"You all can just talk among yourselves while I go say hello to Schneizel," Lelouch said, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. He walked over to his brother, who was mingling in a circle of family friends who were looking at him hungrily.

Clovis might have been right for once when he said that the people Schneizel was talking to were creepy. They looked like they wanted to strangle the life out of Lelouch when he approached. "Schneizel," he announced.

Schneizel turned around and his face burst into a mask of carefully crafted joy. "Lelouch! So glad you could make it! How have you been?" he gave Lelouch a quick hug. "Is Boston treating you well?"

"It's cold," Lelouch replied smartly. Schneizel chuckled a very contrived chuckle.

"As to be expected. Not that Atlanta feels much better some days."

Lelouch looked around at the lunch-goers, some of who were looking at him with the same plastic smile plastered on their faces. He spotted a group of gaunt, warmly-dressed people in the corner of the living room. "Who are they?"

"Hm? Oh, those are Vladimir's relatives from Bulgaria. They don't speak much English," Schneizel said. "I think they're actually here to protest Vladimir being buried on American soil."

"Then why did you invite them?"

Schneizel ignored him and instead tsked. "Lord, Lelouch, you've grown skinny. I mean, you were already skinny, but now you're even more so."

"My college has a lot of uphill stairs, and it's cold," Lelouch replied. He wasn't even going to pursue the previous topic. He already knew that trying that was fruitless.

"I'll have to get Cecile to put some food in you. Ah, speaking of Cecile," Schneizel turned around and gave a little gentlemanly bow to the group around him. "We have to discuss the catering expenses. Please excuse me." With that, he walked away and motioned towards his wife, who followed him down a hallway.

One of the members of the group could not suppress her disappointment. "There he goes again, off to his _wife_. He sure is devoted."

"Indeed he is," Lelouch said, carefully keeping all pride out of his voice.

'We have some arrangements to discuss' was code for 'let's have a quickie in the closet.'

**. . .**

Lelouch couldn't help but bemoan the fact that his sister, Nunnally Buckley, wasn't at the luncheon.

She was only 18, in her last year of high school. There were plans for her to go to college in California, where the Devereux family now lived. Their father wasn't too happy with those arrangements, but he agreed to foot the bill for her college after the Devereux family threatened him with lawsuits and hitmen.

Nunnally had managed to achieve the balance that so very few in the family could: she knew everyone's dirty secrets, ugly pasts, and still somehow genuinely loved everyone. She was pretty popular with the Buckley children, but their father liked to pretend she didn't exist – quite tragic, really, considering she was the only Buckley child that actually didn't want him to suffer a heart attack already.

Anyway, it made sense why she wasn't here. It was a school day, which meant she was safely away from Schneizel and his wife bumping uglies in the coat closet and Clovis trying to talk Clara Carter into a nude portrait.

Euphemia walked up to him. "Have you seen Schneizel?"

"He's in the closet with his wife," Lelouch replied.

"Oh. Well, have you talked to Daddy yet?"

Lelouch's expression became sour. "Do I have to?" Euphemia glared at him. "Fine, fine. But if I go, then you have to talk Clovis out of getting Clara to pose for him nude. I'll come after him with a steak knife if he does that."

"Consider it done. You know why he couldn't keep you at his place, right? It's because Daddy found out he lived next door to some potheads. He didn't talk to them or anything, but you know Daddy. So he's packing up and moving by the end of this week."

Nobody in the family cared for drugs, but their father took his anti-drug beliefs to a religious extreme. Clovis would be lucky if he was still permitted to live within a 20-mile radius of Little Five Points.

Anyway, his slightly bohemian lifestyle wasn't Clovis' dark and horrible secret.

Clovis' dark and horrible secret was that he took vacations to Las Vegas. It wasn't even anything serious, like gambling addiction or attending racy shows, but their father had adamantly stated that no Buckley was setting foot in a place called "Sin City" unless they had a plane that just so happened to land there en route to their final destination. Cecile had wanted to honeymoon in Vegas, but Charles had insisted on covering the honeymoon expenses, so she and Schneizel had to honeymoon in the Florida panhandle. Anyway, Lelouch thought Clovis' dark and horrible secret was kind of wimpy, but Clovis treated it with all the gravity of murder.

"I could be disinherited for what I do, Lelouch," Clovis had once said seriously.

"You mean shopping at the Crystals?" Lelouch asked sarcastically.

In any case, shopping at the Crystals was a sin of magnificent magnitude to both Clovis and their father, who really had no idea what the Crystals were but probably assumed they were drug-related. He would disinherit his son over a luxury retail mall with a pretentious name.

And Lelouch was going to speak with that man.

**. . .**

Charles Buckley was sitting on Schneizel's large leather couch from Italy with Viletta the caretaker.

Viletta the caretaker was the well-paid black caretaker of Charles. She cleaned the house, cooked the meals, vacuumed the rugs, dusted the shelves, and endured the flamingly racist phrases that permeated the Buckley household. Viletta the caretaker was the reason Charles' secrets kept leaking out to his children. She didn't like him, so she told all of his secrets to them. At the same time, she was the reason so many Buckley children knew their siblings' secrets. Lelouch reminded himself to never tell any of his secrets to Viletta the caretaker.

She was cutting up pieces of deep-fried chicken into bite-sized portions as his father nibbled on the vegan spinach puff hors d'oeuvres that Cecile had offered to Lelouch when he first entered the kitchen. As soon as he caught sight of Lelouch, his face darkened.

"Hi, Dad," Lelouch said, sitting down on a nearby footrest.

Charles swallowed his vegan spinach puff hors d'oeuvre and angrily sputtered, "What's this I hear about you having a Yankee girlfriend?!"

It had begun. "You must mean Clara Carter."

"I don't give a rat's ass what her name is. That Yankee witch that you're dating. Lord have mercy, I can't believe a man of the Buckley name is consorting with a Yankee," his father rambled angrily. Viletta the caretaker wiped a bit of spittle from the side of his mouth. "First Euphemia brings home that poor-as-dirt Japanese West Coaster home, and now you show up with a green-haired Yankee witch. This family is falling apart."

Lelouch said nothing. At this point, he'd blocked out most of what his father had said.

"What you need to do, son, is ditch your Yankee witch girlfriend and marry the daughter of this big company owner I know," Charles said. "She's filthy rich, and the union of the two companies would open all sorts of business opportunities for us."

"Mm-hm. I'll think about it, Dad."

"You won't _think_ about it, you'll _do_ it."

"Sure. Okay, Dad. Sir."

"Are you even listening to me, Lelouch Tecumseh Buckley?!" Charles roared.

"Of course I am," Lelouch replied. "I just haven't met this heiress you want me to marry, is all. How can I marry someone I've never met?"

Lelouch knew how to appease his father while simultaneously ignoring him. He'd gotten into frequent fights with his father when he was a teenager, which effectively cut off his college trust fund – not that he really cared, because the Devereux family had already promised him a sizable fortune under his mother's name and an enormous college fund. Anyway, after a few years at college, he'd mellowed out a bit and figured out how to get his father to leave him alone.

Charles looked at him with beady eyes. "Don't play me like a fool, boy."

"I'm dead serious, Dad. I can't marry someone until I see her and get to know her," Lelouch said.

Charles grumbled something in approval and sunk back into the folds of the couch as Viletta the caretaker handed him his plate. He probably knew Lelouch was full of shit, but he couldn't say anything so long as Lelouch was outwardly agreeable.

Schneizel suddenly walked up to them. His hair was still a bit ruffled. "I hope everyone's okay. No explosions, right?"

"Everything is fine, Schneizel," Charles grunted from the couch. He looked up at Schneizel and his beady eyes narrowed. "What's wrong with your hair?"

"Hm? Oh," Schneizel flattened his hair down to its normal state. "I was speaking with Cecile outside when someone told us you were talking with Lelouch. It must have gotten messed up when I was running back inside."

"Hm," was all Charles said.

"Lelouch and I need to discuss the rooming arrangements for tonight," Schneizel said. "So if I may borrow him…"

"Fine," Charles said. "Now, Lelouch Tecumseh Buckley, you better dump that Yankee before this funeral is over or you are disinherited!" he howled unceremoniously as he nearly spilled orange juice all over Viletta the caretaker. Lelouch simply left.

Schneizel turned to him once they were outside of their father's hearing range, which wasn't too far. "Listen, there are no loose threads on my shirt, right? It was, um, torn into," Schneizel said, casting a glance at his passing wife. She winked coquettishly at him.

"No, there are no loose threads on your shirt," Lelouch said, annoyed. "Christ, if you aren't more careful then Dad'll find out and have a fit. He would have exploded on me back there if he found you out."

"Dad is half-blind and getting more senile by the day. I have nothing to worry about," Schneizel said lowly. "Cecile and I are already making arrangements for his funeral."

"Oh, so you were actually making arrangements back there?"

Schneizel ignored him. "Anyway, Suzaku has already taken your suitcases upstairs."

"When the hell did he do that?!" Lelouch asked. Suzaku's niceness was really starting to creep him out; there was Southern hospitality and then there was Suzaku's almost desperate niceness.

"While you were chatting with Cecile about the vegan hors d'oeuvres." They were heading upstairs. "I assume you and your girlfriend want to stay at the room at the end of the hall."

"You assume correctly. I don't want to hear you and your wife boinking each other until the sun rises," Lelouch said. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't entirely sure how either Schneizel or his wife got enough sleep.

"We don't want you to, either. We're thinking of getting soundproof filler in the walls," Schneizel said.

"Please do," Lelouch said sarcastically.

"Oh, speaking of," Schneizel said, turning to look him in the face with a dangerous and suggestive look in his eyes, "Euphemia and the others are taking Dad to the aquarium after the luncheon. You should join them and show Clara Carter around."

Lelouch glared at him. "Christ, you can just tell me when you want to be alone with your wife for three hours."

**. . .**

It was agreed that since Cornelia didn't currently have an issue with their father, she would be the designated sibling to constantly engage their father in semi-interesting business conversation throughout the duration of the aquarium tour. Euphemia or Schneizel were normally the ones who handled this task, but Euphemia was already in trouble because of Suzaku and as Lelouch was leaving Schneizel's house, he could see him ushering out the remaining family members while brandishing an electric chicken cutter.

So that settled that.

Aside from Clovis who had to go home and pack, Lelouch's group had been the first to leave, mostly because he and Euphemia were a little peeved at the current situation.

"Suzaku, be a peach and stop by the World of Coke on the way over there," Euphemia said. She handed Lelouch her credit card. "Lelouch, buy enough tickets for a nice family gathering at the World of Coke tomorrow."

Lelouch got the message.

When they pulled up to the Georgia Aquarium, their father was already waiting for them with Cornelia and Viletta supporting him. In his youth, Charles had been statuesque and broad-shouldered, but years of cigars and scotch had left him with arthritis and a really bad back. He needed a walker, but Charles refused to carry anything other than the silver-headed cane that belonged to his great-grandfather.

He was a bit touchy about people walking in front of him, so Lelouch, Suzaku, Euphemia, and Clara Carter had to hang back as Cornelia, Viletta, and Gilbert Gammond struggled to get Charles to the ticket line outside of the aquarium. An aquarium employee walked up to them worriedly.

"Sir, are you sure you wouldn't like me to get you an electric scooter?" she asked.

Charles glared at her. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Are you sure, sir? The aquarium is very large and it looks like—"

"I'm _fine_, thank you."

The employee left with a disheartened and frightened look on her face.

"Why doesn't he just accept the electric wheelchair scooter?" Clara Carter whispered.

"His pride won't let him," Lelouch replied. It was a big pain in the neck and the reason Schneizel and Euphemia had such well-defined arm muscles. They were used to toting around their father.

"What a pain in the neck," Clara Carter said, vocalizing his sentiments exactly. He smiled at her.

"What's that?" Charles asked.

"Nothing," Clara Carter replied. "Sir."

Gilbert Gammond had managed to purchase and print the required amount of tickets in the 20 minutes or so that were allotted to him after Schneizel informed him of the aquarium scheme. There was a reason he was a high-ranking organizational executive in Cornelia's co-owned broadcasting company. Sadly, despite Gilbert's best efforts, the entrance line for the pre-purchased tickets was longer than the one for the people who were just purchasing the tickets.

Lelouch looked at a brochure that a passing employee was handing out to the people in line. It showed them all the great attractions in the aquarium that they could have currently been seeing if only they had purchased their tickets at the ticket counter instead of on the Internet. The featured interactive show was "Giant Caribbean Hermit Crabs and Friends."

"Ooh, that looks interesting! Daddy, do you want to go to Giant Caribbean Hermit Crabs and Friends?" Euphemia asked their father. "The next show should be starting when we get in."

"Will there be any gators?" their father asked.

"I don't think so," Lelouch replied.

"Then no," Charles said. "I want to see the gators first."

"Do you want me to bring the flashlight in?" Euphemia asked. "It's kind of dark in there." Euphemia had long ceased to be embarrassed by her father's numerous medical problems causing problems for her image. It was why she had a special tote bag for these kinds of situations, and it was filled with extra medications, Band-Aids, and a flashlight for dimly-lit areas.

"No, that won't be necessary," Charles said. Everyone knew he'd start complaining the minute they walked into the exhibit. "I just need my glasses. Be a dear and give them to me."

Euphemia handed him his glasses.

"And my handkerchief. I feel a—" before he could finish, Charles unceremoniously sneezed all over Viletta the caretaker and Cornelia.

Clara Carter and Suzaku looked as if they wanted to run away back to Schneizel's house, even if it meant running into him and his wife by the pool.

Lelouch patted them both on the shoulders as Euphemia awkwardly and apologetically wiped the phlegm off of Viletta the caretaker and Cornelia.

"The Buckley family," he said.

**. . .**

Another employee confronted them over the electric wheelchair scooter when they were inside the aquarium. "Sir, I can get an electric scooter for you," he said.

"I'm fine, sonny," Charles said, tapping the silver-headed cane that belonged to his great-grandfather emphatically on the floor. "I've got my great-grandpappy's cane and these two lovely ladies to help me."

Both Viletta the caretaker and Cornelia looked as if they might collapse at any second. The employee looked at them, unsure of what to do.

"Do those electric scooters have a flashlight on them and a basket?" Euphemia asked.

"Yes, we have those, ma'am."

"Yeah, think about it, Dad. The electric scooter rental is $5, and that's cheaper than the pack of batteries it would cost to replenish the flashlight," Lelouch pointed out. He probably shouldn't have pointed that out, because knowing his father, he'd probably just sealed Viletta the caretaker's and Cornelia's doom.

And yet strangely enough, within minutes, Charles was in an electric wheelchair scooter. In truth, it had cost them $15, but no one was telling Charles.

"I owe you one," Cornelia whispered, rubbing her arm.

"Help me blackmail Schneizel and his wife into coming with us to the World of Coke tomorrow," Lelouch whispered back.

"This family is nuts," Suzaku whispered to Clara Carter behind Lelouch and Cornelia.

"My family acts nothing like this," Clara Carter said. "We usually just tell our grandpa to get his fat ass in an electric wheelchair because we're sick of carrying his ass around."

"Good lord," Suzaku said. "I would get the crap beaten out of me if I said that to my grandfather."

Suzaku's grandfather was the grandmaster of an elite dojo in the Beverly Hills area. He didn't have a bad back or arthritis. He could beat the crap out of nearly anyone. And Clara Carter's grandfather was a Sicilian native and retired police officer who had gained a sizable amount of weight in his old age. He was used to years of foul-mouthed but meaningless bickering with his beloved and late wife, so he didn't care when his green-haired granddaughter told him to get his fat ass in an electric wheelchair.

In any case, Charles Buckley was in an electric wheelchair scooter and looking forward to viewing some alligators. "Let's go to the swamp exhibit. I want to see some gators." He fiddled with the controls on the wheelchair as he searched for the flashlight.

As they walked towards the swamp exhibit, Charles continued in a straight line through the crowds, and Cornelia and Viletta the caretaker were tasked with parting the sea of tourists in order for Charles to make his way through. Once they were inside the swamp exhibit, Charles turned on the flashlight of his electric wheelchair scooter and nearly blinded everyone inside.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Lelouch remembered that they were here to bury their Uncle Vladimir from Bulgaria.

**. . .**

Charles wanted to go back to Schneizel's house and retrieve some of the vegan spinach puffs from their fridge after tasting the food in the overpriced food court, so they pulled straws to determine who would call Schneizel and his wife and tell them to get decent before Charles saw them. Viletta was out of the question. She drove a Cadillac SUV with wireless Bluetooth capabilities on the stereo, because Charles insisted on hearing every single call she made while she was driving the car. This was why Viletta owned two phones. Anyway, someone needed to call ahead and make sure Schneizel and his wife were at least presentable for the phone.

Just his luck, Lelouch drew the short straw.

He excused himself for a bathroom break and hid behind a wall as he called Schneizel.

When Schneizel answered, he heard some splashing and giggling in the background, and Schneizel greeted him with an irate, "Don't tell me you're coming home already."

"Yeah, don't say 'hello' or anything like that. Jesus Christ. Dad wants to stop by your house for those vegan spinach puffs," Lelouch said. "So get decent."

"Can't you just talk him out of stopping by?" Schneizel asked. "And can't you just go see a show or something for an hour more?" Lelouch heard Cecile ask for something that didn't need to be repeated. "Maybe, honey, if there's time. Dad's stopping by. Sorry, I was talking to Cecile."

"Look, I'll tell Viletta to go down the traffic-heavy roads, but there's no talking Dad out of stopping by," Lelouch snapped. "And he doesn't want to see anything else. All we did was go look at the gators, the whales, and then stand around in the gift shop waiting for him to make up his mind on whether or not he wanted to buy a souvenir. If it helps any, Viletta will call you when she's pulled off onto the Buckhead ramp."

"Fine. Do what you will. We'll be ready when Viletta calls." With that, Schneizel hung up. Lelouch forgot how snappy his brother could be when he was interrupted from anything he deemed important.

Screwing his wife in the pool while his siblings tested the limits of their sanity with their father was deemed important, apparently.

**. . .**

Schneizel and his wife looked as if they hadn't been frolicking around their poolside naked when they all arrived at his house and knocked on his door. Well, except for one thing.

"Your skin's very pruny, my dear," Charles noted when he caught a glimpse of Cecile's hands.

"Oh, I was, uh, doing the dishes from the luncheon," Cecile said with a sweet smile.

Schneizel slipped his hands into his pocket. "They're all yours, Dad. The spinach puffs, I mean."

"Yes, thank you, thank you. The luncheon was excellent. Much better than whatever they were serving in the food court," Charles said as Viletta took the packaged spinach puffs from Cecile. "Well, it was a shame you couldn't come to the aquarium. The beluga whales were in prime form."

"That is a shame," Schneizel agreed. "Well, is there anything else you need, Dad?"

"No," Charles said, "but I did hear that you and Cecile _will_ be joining us for the World of Coke tomorrow."

Schneizel's expression fell. "What?"

"Oh, yes, courtesy of Euphemia. Isn't she a doll? She said that now that the whole family is here, we should go out and do things together," Charles said. Schneizel looked at Euphemia. She smiled back sweetly.

"That's nice of you, but—"

"We already bought the tickets," Euphemia said, brandishing two tickets. She handed them to Cecile, who took them with an emotionless look on her face. "We missed you today, Schneizel."

"Ah ha ha. Yes, it seems you did," he said, voice mirthless.

"Well, that's all I came for. Good-bye, everyone. Lelouch, Euphemia. Cornelia, Gilbert. Suzaku, Clara." Charles dipped his head in farewell and left with Viletta the caretaker.

And that left the rest of them behind.

"So," Schneizel said, a dark smile on his lips, "we're supposed to go with you to the World of Coke tomorrow?"

"Exactly," Clara Carter answered, surprising everyone. "Because we're sick of carrying your father's fat ass around and wiping off his snot."

She was referring to an incident where Charles had sneezed all over a guest and a glass panel while they were looking at the beluga whales. Euphemia was incapacitated with apologizing to the guest, and Charles had commanded Clara Carter to clean up after him. So Clara Carter grabbed a handkerchief out of Euphemia's tote bag and wiped off the phlegm.

Anyway, Schneizel looked like he wasn't sure whether or not to be impressed with Clara Carter's bluntness.

"What she means to say," Euphemia said, "is that you're much better at handling situations like these with Daddy."

"We had to put him in an electric wheelchair scooter," Suzaku said.

Schneizel and Cecile looked at them dumbly.

"You put him in an electric wheelchair?" Schneizel demanded.

"Oh, God," Cecile said.

**. . .**

"I think today was a success, in a way," Lelouch breathed once they were safely in their room.

"Christ, is your family full of freaks," Clara Carter said. "Except for maybe that Euphemia. She's pretty normal. But the rest of them – total freaks."

"God, you don't know the half of it. I was seriously scared that Schneizel and Cecile were going to deal you all the sordid details of their courtship."

Clara Carter had made the grave mistake of asking Schneizel and Cecile how they met over a quiet and awkward dinner. They were just beginning to tear up as they recounted their first meeting in the pharmaceutical convenience store when Clara Carter ripped their sentiments to shreds with her bluntness.

"Yeah, I didn't wanna hear that crap. I mean, picking someone up for a one-night stand in a CVS? Gimme a break," Clara Carter said, flopping herself against the bed they were going to share. "But you're lucky, in a way. They love each other a lot."

"They love each other too much, is the problem," Lelouch said.

"Better than some of my family," Clara Carter said. "I have another question that's really been bugging me all day long, but I never found the right moment to ask it," Clara Carter suddenly said. What she probably meant was that her question was too rude and ignorant for his family, as ironic as that sounded. "Does everyone in your family own a shotgun?"

"Dad does," Lelouch said. "But no one else. Schneizel has some pistols in a glass case that he deliberately destroyed the key to, so the only way to get to them is to break the glass. Cornelia used to, but Gilbert is afraid of guns, so she sold it."

Charles had a shotgun in his house, but he couldn't use it because of his arthritis and back problems. So Viletta the caretaker was tasked with using it in the event of a burglary or any other incident that called for its use, like scaring off raccoons or threatening angry tailgaters. Viletta the caretaker was the widow of an ex-soldier-turned-politician who lived in Alabama and died in an improbable engine explosion incident during an auto show. He had died saving two women and their nieces and nephew from the fireball. He posthumously received the Congressional Medal of Honor for his service and his heroism.

Anyway, the point was that Viletta the caretaker was a crack shot who could hit a berserk raccoon even if it was howling in a magnolia tree three yards over in the middle of the night. That was how she won her late husband, after all. She shot a berserk raccoon howling in his magnolia tree in the middle of the night.

It only served to remind Lelouch that he was better off not consorting with Viletta the caretaker.

* * *

**And thus concludes Chapter 1/Day 1 of Lelouch of the South. What an uneventful cliffhanger.**

**Anyway, please review if you enjoyed it - like I said, this is (kind of) a first for me, and even though it's fun to write, I would like to know if it's actually, you know. Enjoyable.**

**All self-deprecation aside, thank you for reading this far!  
**


	2. Day Two

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Code Geass or any other products mentioned in this story.

**Warnings:** How many warnings can a story have, let me count the ways. Dark (and dry) humor, political incorrectness, sexual themes, some OOC-ness, weird pairings, language, and overly specific references to Atlanta. This is also relatively unbeta'd.

**Notes:** Thank you to everyone who reviewed the story! Your kind words mean so very much to me.

* * *

Schneizel and Cecile were a completely different man and woman in the morning.

They'd somehow had the decency to get rid of the heady smells, but they still came downstairs in bathrobes with ruffled hair anyway. Lelouch was busy preparing breakfast and coffee when they arrived.

"Christ, you couldn't neaten up a bit?" he demanded. They just took their seats by the bar as Clara Carter tactlessly edged her way into the next seat over – not that it mattered that she was barely stealthy, because they didn't look particularly disturbed by her tactlessness. They made contented sighs and stretched and looked too happy.

Lelouch set two plates down before them with eggs and bacon and sausage. He suspected that if he and Clara Carter weren't here, and if the couple hadn't woken up and smelled the literal coffee, they would have been quite late in getting out of bed.

"I hope you slept well," Schneizel said pleasantly as he picked at the eggs Lelouch had prepared. "The bed wasn't uncomfortable, was it?'

"No, it was very comfortable," Lelouch said. "And pull your bathrobe up. Clara's here for Christ's sake."

Schneizel didn't bother to pull up his robe, and Clara Carter decided instead to focus her attention on the dual conventional ovens in the kitchen that the personal chef and housekeeper used. The housekeeper had a break because Lelouch was here. Lelouch heard that the housekeeper before her was a lesbian that was attracted to Cecile, and Schneizel had to fire her after he caught her molesting his wife in her spacious closet. Of course, he had entered the closet with the same intentions as her, which is ultimately why she was caught.

In any case, he was terrifically furious and fired the lesbian housekeeper on the spot.

It wasn't because Schneizel hated homosexuals or was at all opposed to the idea of a woman groping another woman's body. It was because, of all the nasty things he could inherit from their father, he inherited their father's vengefulness and his possessiveness. If you pushed the wrong buttons, Schneizel could be terrifically mean and destructive to those who encroached upon what he deemed totally and wholly his.

Cecile was someone he deemed totally and wholly his.

**. . .**

"How nice of you to prepare breakfast, Lelouch," Cecile said. She had the slightest of French accents but lacked a Southern accent. Schneizel didn't have much of an accent either from years of German lessons.

"When do we have to leave for the World of Coke?" Schneizel asked.

"We're going out to lunch and then we're all driving to the World of Coke," Lelouch replied. "Dad doesn't want to pay 20 bucks for another lousy hot dog at the vendors."

"And where's lunch being held, dear?" Cecile asked. It might have been charming if she didn't look she'd rolled around in the sheets with her husband all night long.

"Some pasta place," Lelouch shrugged. "I don't know. Euphemia wanted to eat at Mary Mac's Tea Room, but Dad said that was a chick flick restaurant and that he wasn't going to be seen there."

In truth, Charles Buckley had actually been to Mary Mac's Tea Room in the past frequently, when he was married to Marianne Buckley née Devereux. He used to get the pot likker and eat cornbread and enjoy the Southern cooking. But ever since Marianne Buckley née Devereux had died in a freak boating accident on Lake Lanier, he'd sworn off Mary Mac's and said it was a chick flick restaurant.

**. . .**

Schneizel and Cecile flat-out told them they wanted to be alone in the house for two hours, so Lelouch and Clara Carter wandered around their landscaped backyard and talked about the meaning of life and peanuts until they saw Euphemia's car pull up the driveway.

"Where's Schneizel?" she asked when they walked up to her.

"Frolicking in the house with his wife," Lelouch replied. "Probably trying to get all the lust out before they have to hang around Dad all day."

"Oh, bless their hearts," Euphemia sighed.

**. . .**

The pasta restaurant they went to had a pretentious name that Lelouch hadn't bothered to remember. Lelouch was kind of sick of pretentiously-named bistros in general, but he decided that eating at a pretentiously-named bistro was better than eating at an overpriced hamburger vendor outside of the World of Coke.

Charles sat at the head of the weathered, "vintage" wooden table they were sitting at, reading the menu. The menu was printed on a piece of weathered parchment that made it look rustic. When he said they were going to this pretentiously-named lunch-only pasta bistro, he left no room for alternative suggestions.

"I think I'll have a salad," Cornelia said. That was her way of saying that she was going to eat somewhere else once she was given the chance.

"So Clara," Charles asked, a hint of venom in his voice, "do they drink Coke up in your Yankee Boston?"

"Yeah, they do," Clara Carter replied. "Sir."

Charles' eyes narrowed, but he said nothing about her lack of manners. He turned to Suzaku. "Do they drink Coke in California, you?"

Suzaku nervously diverted his eyes to and fro. "W-Well, we have Coke products, sir."

"But do you _drink_ them, boy?" Charles asked him with a piercing gaze.

"Dad, I think the waitress is coming," Schneizel interjected. It was true. Their waitress was coming to take their order. Suzaku looked relieved.

"Hey there, y'all," she greeted them. Clara Carter and Suzaku looked surprised and vaguely confused. "My name's Cindy and I'll be taking care of y'all today. Do you know what you would like to drank?" She scribbled down their drink orders one at a time. Euphemia whispered something in Suzaku's ear, and when the waitress came to him, he said he wanted a Coke.

Lelouch nudged Clara Carter. "Hey. Order a Diet Coke, will you?"

"Why? It tastes wicked nasty," Clara Carter retorted.

"Because my Dad has this really weird thing where if a woman doesn't order Diet Coke, she doesn't care about her figure," Lelouch said. "A lady keeping her weight in check is important to him."

"Do you know what you would like, darlin'?" Cindy asked Clara Carter. She looked up at her and smiled sweetly.

"A Coke, if you would please," she told her.

Lelouch turned his gaze away from his father's pointed glare. Euphemia swallowed and motioned to the waitress. "Um, excuse me, ma'am!"

"Yes, darlin'?"

"Change my drink order to a regular Coke," Euphemia said.

From the end of the weathered, "vintage" table, Charles made a loud, angry snort.

**. . .**

After the drink order debacle, Euphemia and Clara Carter retreated to the bathroom, so Cecile excused herself as well.

"Now you, too," Charles said gruffly. He was still in a bad mood from Clara Carter and Euphemia ordering regular Coke. "What are y'all doing back there?"

"Powdering our noses," Cecile replied. "We women like to do that to look our best."

That answer seemed to satisfy Charles to the point that he smiled at her. Lelouch looked at her as if she were a ruthlessly efficient machine. From the corner of his eye, he saw Schneizel looked just as pleased as Charles, but for an entirely different reason – perhaps the most telling example was the fact that his legs were now crossed. Lelouch struggled to keep his expression free of any disgust.

"She's a heck of a woman, Schneizel," Charles said from the end of the table.

"I knew that when I married her," Schneizel said more suggestively than he should have. Cornelia shot him a quick and warning glare. He ignored her.

"She drinks sweet tea with lemon," Charles said, "like a true lady."

"That she does," Schneizel said with a pleasant smile on his face. "She loves sweet tea."

"No regular Coke in that lady," Charles said.

"No, sir," Schneizel replied, his smile waning.

In truth, Schneizel and Cecile both loved Coke, like all good Atlantans. At home, they kept bottles of Coke hidden in a basement cellar that their father didn't know about. The bottles of Coke had actually aged down there in the cellar, so they had a fermented taste to them. It was a lot like drinking sparkling Coke-wine without the drunken aftereffects. Sometimes Schneizel and Cecile brought them to neighborhood parties during the summer or distributed them among the Buckley children.

The three women returned from the bathroom with fresh coats of lipstick and blush. Cecile sat beside her husband and cast a quick but knowing glance down at his crossed legs. Lelouch turned his head away from them and looked at Clara Carter. "So what did she lecture you about in there?"

Clara Carter smiled devilishly. "She told me to gorge myself on Coke at the World of Coke and to keep stirring the pot."

Lelouch looked at Cecile. She smiled back gently. He then looked at Euphemia. She shrugged and mouthed, "He's almost dead anyway."

**. . .**

At the World of Coke entrance, Gilbert Gammond asked, "Who's attending the funeral for Vladimir?"

"All of us are," Charles said. "Vladimir's relatives are also coming. They're staying at a Best Western somewhere downtown. They had no money when they came over here, and yelled at me to pay for their hotel, so I did. Oh, and one more person is coming, just out of necessity."

"Who?" Clara Carter asked. Charles ignored her.

"Who is it?" Cornelia asked in a much louder voice, directly in their father's hearing aids.

"Carlotta," Charles said.

Everyone's faces fell.

**. . .**

Carlotta Buckley née Wheatley was Charles' most recent ex-trophy wife. She was blonde and busty and 30+ years younger than Charles. She was a materialistic and spoiled gold-digger. Her family didn't have much money, and she pretended they didn't exist. She was proof that Cecile thought of Schneizel as totally and wholly hers, and could become terrifically violent and mean if you pushed the wrong buttons.

Here was what had happened.

Carlotta, being 30+ years younger than Charles, didn't care much for him and saw other men to fulfill her carnal needs. She met Schneizel at Easter and soon harbored an intense sexual attraction for him. Schneizel never allotted time to speak with Carlotta or get to know her, so he never noticed her blatant attraction for him. His wife, however, did, and she tried to be a lady about it. She really did. She gave Carlotta polite warnings about all the lawsuits she could file against her. But it didn't work on Carlotta. On the day of the family Thanksgiving dinner, Cecile walked into the kitchen to get some cranberry sauce only to find Carlotta in the midst of ripping off an unsuspecting Schneizel's pants – or trying to, at least.

Cecile lost her grip on her ladylike manners. And by the time the rest of the family had raced into the kitchen after hearing the murderous screams of rage, Cecile had already grabbed the Thanksgiving turkey and knocked Carlotta unconscious with it. So Carlotta had to be taken to the hospital, Charles had to call his divorce lawyer, and everyone had to order Chinese instead.

Anyway, Schneizel filed a sexual harassment lawsuit and a restraining order against Carlotta, which he both won. Charles shortly divorced her thereafter on the official grounds of her extravagant spending.

Even though they were divorced, Carlotta didn't have a place to live, so she was staying at Charles' house until her new condo was ready. She was currently consulting a psychologist for her new, marked fear of turkeys.

**. . .**

Lelouch realized at this point in his tangential vignettes that a lot of people were looking to get into his brother's and his sister-in-law's pants. He wasn't sure why. The thought actually kind of disturbed him.

**. . .**

Lelouch would actually ask his brother later, in the World of Coke, at the tasting stations, why so many people were looking to bed either him or his wife.

Schneizel looked shocked. "You really don't keep up with the family, do you? Odysseus gets way more women than I do, and Gwen has more lovers than Cecile ever had."

"Really," Lelouch said flatly. "Odysseus."

Gwen he could believe. She and Odysseus were his cousins. She was a well-endowed gold-digger, like Carlotta, but she never had a turkey smashed over her head. She was a little more discreet about her fancies than Carlotta. She had once tried to hire a hitman to kill Charles so that she could claim a tidy profit off of his life insurance, but she confided in Viletta the caretaker that she was pretty sure she would go straight to Hell for such a thing. Lelouch was pretty sure she'd go straight to Hell anyway for even thinking that up.

Odysseus, however, was a wimp who worked in accounting all day at a minor accounting firm that the family owned. He lived with a bunch of cats and read Arthurian legends obsessively.

"Yes," Schneizel said, nodding. "Odysseus has at least five women over at his apartment every night. Ask anyone else in the family. They'll tell you."

"But… how?" Lelouch sputtered.

"He reads them the tale of Lancelot and Guinevere," Schneizel shrugged. "And it just sort of happens. Just like that couple that's burning in the Second Circle of Hell."

**. . .**

In any case, the trip through the World of Coke's ticket line was pleasant until another employee noticed Charles' hobbling swagger. "Sir, would you like me to get you an electric scooter?" he asked.

"Yes, please, if you would," Charles said proudly. When Schneizel looked at him questioningly, he told him, "Lelouch used his brain for once yesterday and told me that it was more economical to take an electric scooter than it was to pay for batteries for the flashlight."

Schneizel looked at him oddly. Lelouch shrugged in response.

Once Charles was on the scooter and Schneizel had slipped the employee a $20 bill, they proceeded inside of the museum and were forced to watch some Coke adverts before being released into the bulk of the museum.

"Let's go to the tasting station," Euphemia suggested enthusiastically.

"Oh, sure," Charles said bitterly. "So you can drown yourself in Coke and blow up like a balloon."

Euphemia looked hurt. Suzaku wrapped his arms around her sympathetically.

"Hey, you! Don't touch my daughter!" Charles snapped, shaking his cane at Suzaku. Suzaku hesitated, but he didn't step away from Euphemia. Charles was starting to make a scene.

"Do you want to go into the History of Coke exhibit, sir?" Cecile interjected quickly. "It'll be good exercise. And Schneizel and I have _so_ much to discuss with you… don't we, honey?"

"Yes," Schneizel coughed. "It's about the advertising firm."

"Ah, yes, yes," Charles said, miraculously and suddenly serene. "Let's go, let's go."

Clara Carter nudged Lelouch as they were following behind his babbling father. "I've learned something about this family."

"Really. Do share."

"No matter how much you deny it, youse guys stand up for each other like true siblings. You love each other, I bet."

Lelouch sighed. "Well, if you want to say that. I'm not sure it'll last once Dad's dead."

Charles Buckley had millions in assets. Maybe even billions. He owned a lot of things his children and people in general would deem valuable: gold jewelry, diamonds, designer-brand clothing, expensive furniture.

Charles Buckley also had some very greedy children. It was partially his fault, actually. That was how he had raised them. They wouldn't be very successful heirs to the Buckley business empire if they weren't as greedy as him.

When Charles Buckley did die in the future, Lelouch's words would come true. The Buckley children would throw away the years of support they had offered to one another and make a mad dash to get as many valuable items as they could from their father's estate, heedless of his will. It would take Viletta the crack shot caretaker's shotgun, Nunnally, and a pre-Easter miracle to finally make them realize the error of their greedy ways.

It didn't matter anyway. The family would go back to acting normally, even though nothing was really the same anymore. They had done this one other time, and that was when Marianne Buckley née Devereux passed away.

**. . .**

Lelouch's mother had had a profound impact on the Buckley children.

She was charming and charismatic in her own way. She was much nicer than Charles, even to his lovechildren. She had an adventurous spirit and she liked to plant crazy ideas in people's heads.

She was the one that told Euphemia it was okay to become a philanthropic surgeon that performed free surgeries on underprivileged handicapped children in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, if that was her dream. She encouraged Cornelia to take fencing lessons, fostered Clovis' artistic talent, and paid for Schneizel to learn German so that he could eventually figure out that his mother sent him German recipes on those tacky postcards.

She was incredibly dangerous to the future of the Buckley business empire. That was one of the reasons Charles Buckley had divorced her, and why he sometimes tried so hard to deny the existence of her children. It was also the reason the Buckley children could manage to stay together. Marianne was the one thread that stubbornly bound them together.

**. . .**

The story of how Charles married Marianne was a simple but legendary family myth.

It was Marianne's spirit that attracted Charles. She liked to challenge him as much as she liked to challenge his children. Nobody had put Charles through such hell, but nobody had also ever made him that happy.

"You're man enough to go to church every Sunday," she told him one day as they were walking past a church, "but I bet you're too scared to marry me."

Charles laughed. "I've married women before you, Marianne."

"Yeah, but you've never married _me_," Marianne said challengingly. "You're too scared to."

Well, Charles was intent on proving her wrong, and that was how they wound up getting married.

**. . .**

"I never knew Coke started out as medicine," Clara Carter said as she read about the beginnings of Coca-Cola. "That explains why my mother always gave me Coke whenever I was feeling sick. The things ya learn."

Some people were looking at her because of her strange accent. In all honesty, Lelouch couldn't quite get over it, either – but it was something he kind of liked about Clara Carter. It was so different from the slithery drawls he was used to hearing.

Speaking of drawls, Lelouch was pretty sure that Suzaku had an extreme weakness for Euphemia's. Her voice had a strangely hypnotic effect on Suzaku.

"Suzaku, darlin', look at that _ad_," Euphemia said as they looked at the bottling process. "Isn't that _amazing_, that calligraphy. It was written by hand. You don't see that much nowadays."

"No," came Suzaku's very zombie-like answer. Lelouch doubted he cared about the Coke advertisement's calligraphy. Most people didn't, but it was like he was letting the honey from her words drip all over his consciousness.

Now that Lelouch thought about it, the only person who didn't really have a weakness for any particular accent in the family was Cornelia.

Of course, she had a weakness for sports where everyone else just didn't care.

They continued through the exhibit. Schneizel and Charles were locked in deep and quiet conversation about the state of the advertising company. Apparently Schneizel's German art critic mother had procured a new client for them.

"It's a beer company," Schneizel said. "The ad is to be in German."

"Ah, I see, I see," Charles nodded. If it had been any other child proposing the idea of promoting a German beer company, then Charles would have said that no Buckley was going to help support "socialist foreigner alcohol." Charles had grown up in the final years of World War II, and he hadn't quite lived it down yet. That didn't answer the question of how he wound up marrying a German art critic.

Anyway, maybe it was for the best that the advertising company wound up in Schneizel's hands.

Once they were done with the history of Coke, they wanted to go into the 4D movie, but the attendant stopped them at the entrance to the theater.

"Do you have back problems, sir?" the attendant asked.

"That's none of your business," Charles snapped.

"Yes, he does," Cecile politely answered for them.

The attendant shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, but people with back problems are not permitted in the theater."

It made Lelouch wonder just how intense a 4D movie about Coca-Cola could possibly be that a hobbling old man with back problems, people with heart conditions, and pregnant women wouldn't be allowed inside.

It wasn't really a question of intensity or excitement. During the 4D movie, you sat down in a chair that provided the 4D experience. There was a part of the movie where a dragonfly flew behind you and stung you. A little plastic cylinder in the chair would fly out and give you a mean little shock right between the shoulder blades. They fixed it after people complained that the shock was actually giving them pain, but when the Buckley family was visiting the World of Coke that day, it hadn't yet been fixed. The World of Coke didn't want to get sued by Charles Buckley.

"I'm very sorry, sir," the attendant apologized again. "If you would like, I can keep you company while your family goes inside to see the 4D movie."

"No, we're just fine, thanks," Charles said. "We'll go to the tasting station. Thank you."

So that settled that.

"Your dad's a real piece of work, you know that?" Clara Carter said as she was gulping down some Chinese watermelon juice-soda. "Christ. He couldn't just wait outside. And then he had to be a real snob about it, too."

"Don't say that so loudly," Lelouch hissed as he got some pineapple juice. "Or you'll make Dad even more pissed than he already is."

"Your dad needs a goddamn smack in the mouth," Clara Carter said. "He needs a reality check."

They heard a loud sputter from beside them. Euphemia was giggling as Suzaku dumped whatever was in his cup in the drink basin before quickly departing for the regular Coke station.

"What was that?" Clara Carter asked.

"Probably Beverly," Lelouch said. "Hey, Clara, you should try some."

"Christ, no."

"Hey, Schneizel," Lelouch said, turning to his brother, who was sipping on something that looked like Fanta. "What's up with Beverly? You should know."

"I don't," Schneizel replied, shrugging. "Cecile might. Beverly's an Italian thing."

"Cecile's French."

"She's worldly," Schneizel said. "Her parents are very knowledgeable."

Lelouch had never met Cecile's parents. He wondered if they were invited to Uncle Vladimir from Bulgaria's funeral. Funerals were a good excuse for a bunch of family you never knew you had to get together. He made a mental note to ask Schneizel that question later.

Cecile was busy patting Suzaku on the back. He was choking from trying to inhale so much Coca-Cola at once.

"I can't breathe," he gasped in between coughs.

"That's the carbonation," Cecile said. "Try to breathe in through your nose."

"My nose feels like it's going to catch on fire," Suzaku heaved. "Oh, god." He gasped for air. "What is _up_ with that Beverly drink?!"

Cecile shrugged. "I don't know. I'm French."

**. . .**

Beverly was actually a non-alcoholic aperitif that was served before a meal to help aid in digestion in Italy. It was not intended to be an all-purpose soda drink, and production of the drink was actually discontinued. In that sense, it probably shouldn't have been at the World of Coca-Cola's tasting station, but visiting tourists loved to tell their friends how nasty it tasted. It could be argued that Beverly alone was a major factor in whether or not tourists visited the World of Coke.

Ironically, Clara Carter's maternal grandparents drank aperitifs with their meals. Clara Carter had no idea what an aperitif was. She just said that her grandparents drank a shot of weird-looking booze before they ate. Even if she did know what an aperitif was, she'd most likely still hate Beverly anyway.

Like many Americans, Clara Carter was accustomed to sweet tastes. That went doubly for all members of the Buckley family. Suzaku was probably the only exception. He didn't like sweet things. He liked salty and savory flavors, and putting wasabi or Sriracha sauce on anything that looked remotely bland.

Charles Buckley called him out on it. "Why can't you just eat the pasta the way it is?" he demanded during one unfortunate collective family dinner that was to occur later in the week. "Why do you have to spray that red devil rooster sauce all over it?" He ordered Viletta the caretaker to confiscate it on the grounds that he had suspicions about its origins.

Charles Buckley would then look up Sriracha sauce on the internet (after asking Viletta the caretaker how to use the internet), and he would then confront Suzaku later that night over its origins. "Chinese Communist devil sauce!" he would declare angrily in a fit of half-blind senility.

In actuality, Sriracha sauce came from Thailand, which was neither Chinese nor Communist. Thailand was in fact a unitary parliamentary constitutional monarchy. Of course, Charles Buckley did not know this. He was too busy frothing at the mouth over Suzaku's alleged devil Communist rooster sauce.

However, that was another story for another time. For now, Charles Buckley was of relatively sound, if not senile, mind.

**. . .**

The ride back to Schneizel's house was very uncomfortable. It had nothing to do with the plush leather seats in Schneizel's zippy BMW. It had everything to do with Carlotta.

"Carlotta messes the whole thing up. A funeral can't excuse the conditions of the restraining order," Schneizel said. Carlotta was not allowed within 200 feet of Schneizel. "Dad can't just leave her alone at home? She has to be watched like a little kid all the time?"

"To be fair, she acts like one," Lelouch quipped from the backseat. Schneizel ignored him.

"Do you think you can talk to your father?" Cecile asked.

"Did you see him at lunch? He nearly lost it over _drink orders_. He's getting more senile and volatile by the day."

"Maybe we should hire a lawyer or some cops, then. Bartley owes us a favor, anyway."

Bartley Aspirus was the overweight, bald attorney of Schneizel and Cecile. He was technically one of many lawyers who worked for Schneizel's advertising firm in the event that anyone was foolhardy enough to sue a Buckley business. Bartley was an alumnus of Duke University's Class of 1973. He wore hideously obvious toupees and white suits and had a lilting Southern accent.

Clara Carter snorted. "What are you gonna do? Make her stay 200 feet away from the goddamn burial site?"

Schneizel chuckled. "Of course not, Clara. I'm going to make her stay 200 feet away from the burial site with two armed police guards flanking her."

Cecile sighed. "Honey, please, be reasonable… it really should be four police guards and a K-9 unit."

**. . .**

In any case, Bartley was contacted when they arrived home. He said he would look into the four police guards and the K-9 unit after speaking with Carlotta's attorney.

"If he starts being stubborn, Bartley, tell him this," Cecile said. "I don't take kindly to those who deny me a rightful claim."

Lelouch was pretty sure he just uncovered one of the reasons Schneizel had married Cecile, right there. It also explained why she sometimes gave him the creeps.

"Got it, Miss Cecile. I'll be sure to tell him that," Bartley drawled from the other end. "Y'all take care now!"

"Good-bye, Bartley," Cecile said, hanging up. "Such a sweet man."

"Someone should tell him to stop wearing those hideous toupees," Lelouch said as he munched on some celery.

"Oh, God, you should have seen him at Valentine's Day. Awful," Cecile said, making a face. "I don't know when Schneizel's going to break the news to him. Everyone keeps telling him they look fine because they don't want to hurt his feelings."

"It's not that so much as the sputtering embarrassment and self-deprecation that follows," Schneizel said. "It'll make you cringe more than seeing his toupees."

Clara Carter mouthed "suck up" to Lelouch. He clicked his tongue in agreement. Most people who worked under Schneizel tended to be that way.

"You remember the cologne discussion, dear? He wouldn't stop talking about it for months afterward. He even brought in samples for people to sniff. I had to talk to him about _that_, and it just made everything worse."

"Is that why you made me pick out that cologne at Lennox that one day?" Cecile asked, baffled. "I was wondering what happened to it. I thought it was for you."

Clara Carter looked like she was about to explode from all the things she wanted to say on the matter. It was Lelouch's stern and almost pleading look that made her hold her tongue.

"Anyway, that's all in the past now. We should focus on the here and now," Schneizel said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Lelouch, you know who Uncle Vladimir is, don't you?"

"Should I?" Lelouch asked.

"Not really," Schneizel said. "In fact, I had to dig around in Dad's old company records to find out anything about Uncle Vladimir."

"Oh," Lelouch said lamely. "Why did you even ask me, then?"

"It was rhetorical," Schneizel replied.

"It was pointless."

Schneizel ignored him. "Uncle Vladimir is actually a very distant cousin of Dad's. He worked for him in the late 70's, but once he found out his relation to Dad, he immediately quit and ran away to Savannah. He only recently returned to get his shingles treated. He actually died on the way to the dermatologist. Collapsed right in the waiting room."

Vladimir's distant relation to Charles confirmed the presence of Bulgarian heritage in the Buckley family tree. Charles Buckley was actually one-sixteenth Bulgarian. He hadn't figured it out yet because of his half-senility, but what he had figured out was that he felt a very powerful and mysterious bond with Vladimir. When the medical office contacted Charles after a lengthy but not particularly extensive search into Vladimir's background, and told him Vladimir was dead, Charles felt as if a brother had been lost.

The same couldn't be said for Vladimir, actually. He had only exchanged two sentences with Charles Buckley in his entire lifetime, and he spent a great deal of his years cursing his distant cousin's existence.

**. . .**

Vladimir was the same age as Charles, coincidentally. He'd been born in the late years of World War II, just before the People's Republic of Bulgaria was formed. He was a small man with shockingly platinum blond hair. Vladimir adored his country. He even received his degree in History with the highest honors during his university studies in Bulgaria. Some would say that Vladimir was married to history. He never sought out permanent female company.

Nevertheless, when Vladimir was in his thirties, he became involved with a woman who, it turned out, was vehemently opposed to the socialist regime in Bulgaria. She wrote a pamphlet that said some unpleasant things about the government at the time. Vladimir had no idea about the pamphlet. He was a normal law-abiding citizen. Still, the government went after him in light of his connections with the author of the pamphlet, so Vladimir managed to flee to Greece and board a ship headed for America. Some way or another, Vladimir wound up in Atlanta, virtually penniless. He landed a low-paying job as an assembly line worker at Charles' men's apparel company.

He only met Charles twice. The first time, they bumped into each other on the way to the bathroom and exchanged mere pleasantries and harumphs. There were lots of harumphs. Most of them came from Charles.

The second time, Vladimir was collecting a cheap medal made of fake metal compounds and plastic from Charles in recognition of his above-average contributions to the quality of Buckley-made ties.

"Congratulations, good sir," Charles had said noncommittally. That was when he first looked into Vladimir's eyes and felt that powerful and mysterious bond. He shook his hand with emphatic firmness. "Thank you for all your service to the Buckley name."

That was also the first time Vladimir had a seething suspicion that Charles was perhaps related to him, even if only by a slim fraction. Vladimir secretly hated Charles. This was because Vladimir was a decent human being. And it made him quite nauseous to think that the womanizing, chain-cigar-smoking, scotch-drinking, greedy, arrogant behemoth before him could possibly be related to him.

So Vladimir retreated to the archives and did far more research into his family background than the medical officers would decades later. He found out, indeed, that he and Charles had a common Bulgarian ancestor. Charles' great-great-great-great-great grandfather had actually left the family behind to set sail for the New World all the way back in the late 1700s.

In any case, Vladimir was completely horrified and he immediately quit his job and fled as far as his meager earnings and hitchhiking would take him – that place being Savannah, Georgia. He went on to open up an overpriced sweets shop in the historical district of Savannah that sold some really terrific chocolate gopher turtles. A chocolate gopher turtle was a nauseatingly sweet mixture of toasted pecans, caramel, and chocolate that vaguely resembled the back of a very small and chocolatey turtle. Vladimir made good money off of his overpriced and tasty chocolate gopher turtles. He donated a lot of this money to charities for assisting the impoverished, promoting safe and reliable Bulgarian immigration, and almost any kind of major movement that promoted equal gender and societal rights.

Anyway, Vladimir had a history of dermatological problems that continued throughout his middle-aged life. It finally culminated in a very severe case of shingles. Vladimir reluctantly accepted the fact that he needed medical help in Atlanta, so he had a friend drive him there. As he was in the waiting room for his appointment, he experienced a sudden heart attack and died.

It wasn't a particularly well-known fact at the time, but Vladimir had actually died a socialist. He'd grown up surrounded by socialism in the People's Republic of Bulgaria, but Vladimir never thought much of it until he met Charles Buckley. Vladimir had a lukewarm relationship with capitalism up until then. Charles was the catalyst for his conversion.

If Charles knew about Vladimir's socialist beliefs, he wouldn't have been so eager to pay for Vladimir's rather expensive funeral.

**. . .**

"Why are we burying somebody we don't know anything about?" Lelouch demanded. "Wouldn't it be more appropriate to hand him over to his family and have them bury him in Bulgaria?"

"Yes, actually," Schneizel said. "Uncle Vladimir stated in his will that he wanted to be buried on his beloved Bulgarian soil."

"Then why is the funeral here?" Lelouch asked.

"Dad paid some people," Schneizel said. "He paid them a _lot_ of money."

Lelouch couldn't even get past his disbelief to ask Schneizel why their father had illegally bribed some officials just so he could bury a man he'd barely talked to, but at the very least, he now understood why Vladimir's relatives seemed so mad at the pre-funeral planning family reunion luncheon.

"The _hell_ is wrong with your father?" Clara Carter asked, breaking the silence.

Nobody really knew how to answer that question.

It was because there were just too many answers.

**. . .**

"I have a confession to make."

Lelouch turned to Clara Carter. "What is it?"

Clara Carter almost looked guilty for a second. "When I first heard about your family, I thought your dad owned a cotton plantation."

Lelouch looked at her for a very long time in silence.

"Well we don't," he finally said. "We buy our cotton from local farmers."

"The hell's that look for? You think I'm dumb?" Clara Carter retorted.

"No, no. I'm just… never mind."

"Hey, don't get a big head! You've screwed up around Boston."

That was true. Taxi drivers constantly sabotaged his attempts to get anywhere because he acted like he barely knew what he was talking about. He also tried to fake a Boston accent and failed very miserably in that regard.

Anyway, that wasn't the point. "Yeah, but I didn't think you guys worked in factories canning food for the soldiers," Lelouch said.

"No, but you did ask me if we sometimes dumped tea into the harbor for fun."

There was silence between them again.

"Good night," Lelouch finally said.

"Good night," Clara Carter agreed cheerily.

* * *

**Poor, poor Vladimir.**

**Anyway, if you enjoyed the story, please review! **


	3. Day Three

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Code Geass or any other products mentioned in this story.

**Warnings:** How many warnings can a story have, let me count the ways. Dark (and dry) humor, political incorrectness, sexual themes, some OOC-ness, weird pairings, language, and overly specific references to Atlanta. This is also relatively unbeta'd.

**Notes:** Again, thank you very much to everyone who reviewed the story. They bring a little smile to my face, to be utterly trite.  
Also, when this was originally published, I made the incredibly derp-tastic mistake of having Schneizel go to Georgia Tech. Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets and the UGA Bulldogs are not compatible. Maybe not as bad as poisoning a tree, but enough to make conversations take a really nasty turn if you let your favorite college football team slip. Not even Schneizel's professional BS or Charles' half-senility would save that situation. So thank you to **handroid** for pointing out this derp-tastic mistake! I should read over my story more thoroughly. Seriously.

* * *

The next morning, Lelouch was sipping on some coffee in the sunroom when Schneizel waltzed in. He was properly dressed at an hour he normally spent with his wife in bed, which was cause for suspicion alone. Lelouch was starting to get worried. He became even more worried when Schneizel sat down in the seat beside him and emphatically sighed.

"Lovely morning, isn't it?" he said. He was making small talk. Schneizel was very good at that. He made so much small talk that Lelouch was almost sure that half of what he said was utter bullshit.

"Yeah, it is," Lelouch said uneasily. The grip on his coffee mug tightened considerably.

"Cecile is out in the back gardening with Clara," Schneizel continued. Lelouch didn't care that Cecile was gardening, let alone with Clara Carter. "Just in case you were wondering."

"What do you want?" Lelouch asked fearfully, eying the exit.

Schneizel's eyes became sorrowful. "We need to discuss something, Lelouch."

Lelouch did not want to discuss anything with Schneizel. "Um… okay."

Schneizel sighed again. "It's been three years since Marianne died, and this funeral has made me reflect upon who she was. The woman she was."

"…Uh-huh," Lelouch said nervously.

"You know, what she wished. What she wanted for you, and for the family. So in light of that, I think it's very important that we have this discussion."

"I thought this gathering was about Uncle Vladimir from Bulgaria," Lelouch pointed out. "Not Mom."

"It is, but you know. Minds wander. And with you in the house, I'm reminded of Marianne every day." Schneizel was not particularly emotive. The slight downward tug of his lips was the most emotion Lelouch had ever seen rendered on his face.

Lelouch laughed nervously. "Christ, you don't have to be such a Debbie Downer about it. You could write a sappy novel with this crap. Mom would've wanted us to move on, you know?"

"Yes… move on. Lelouch—" Schneizel began.

And then the doorbell rang.

Schneizel got up to reluctantly answer it, and Lelouch followed. It was Euphemia.

"Ah, Euphy. What are you doing here so early?" Schneizel asked.

Euphemia looked confused. "Is something the matter, Schneizel?"

"Nothing," Schneizel said. He said that, but his gaze probably said volumes. "Anyway, why are you here, Euphy?"

"Suzaku and I were going to take Lelouch and Clara out to lunch at Mary Mac's," Euphemia drawled. "Won't you join us, Schneizel?"

"I'd love to, but work calls. We have a particularly picky client and the whole firm's up in arms."

"Oh, okay. Well, tell Clara that we'll be waiting out by the car," Euphemia said. Lelouch put down his coffee mug and grabbed his jacket before taking his place beside Euphemia.

"See you, Schneizel," Lelouch said.

"We'll continue our discussion when you return," Schneizel said. "I'll tell Clara that she's needed. Oh, and bring home some pot likker for us, if you don't mind."

Euphemia and Lelouch left as Schneizel shut the door behind them. Euphemia looked at him oddly. "What was _that_ about?"

"You interrupted a heart-to-heart discussion. I think he was trying to reconcile with me," Lelouch said.

"Oh, _Lord_. I am so sorry!" Euphemia gasped. "You know, everyone in the family's been dying for you two to make up. Y'all used to be so close. What happened?"

"I dunno. I grew old, he got creepy."

"Both true," Euphemia nodded. "You know, he cleans the pool in a speedo. And Cecile usually gardens while wearing a bikini top and gold hot pants."

"What?"

"Oh, I'll tell you later. Anyway, he's your kin, Lelouch. Your kin's all you'll have in this big crazy world when you got nothing left. Even if they are weird and a little creepy."

"Who's a little weird and creepy?" Suzaku asked as they approached the car.

"Oh, don't you worry your sweet head about it," Euphemia told him. "It's just the family."

"Oh. Okay. Makes enough sense, just from what I've seen," Suzaku said. "No offense, Lelouch."

"Believe me, none taken," he grumbled in reply.

Clara Carter walked up to them in a fresh t-shirt. She smelled like earth and rosemary. "I saw some weird shit in the gardening shed," she said. "And a pair of hot pants. Should I be concerned?"

**. . .**

Mary Mac's Tea Room was located on a rather unsightly and busy street near the Fox Theatre. People flocked in droves to Mary Mac's to get some pot likker, which was essentially leafy greens that had been soaked in a broth that was a combination of the ham hock and collard green flavors. The recipe for pot likker was an old and closely-guarded secret. It was something you were to inherit if you were born into the right family, or were tasked with guarding if you had built up decades of trust.

Lelouch realized that pot likker was probably the second secret, closely-guarded recipe that Atlanta currently had. Go figure.

Clara Carter glanced at some passing women who were shuffling inside. They were wearing large, elaborately-decorated derby hats. "Am I under-dressed or something?"

"You're fine, sweetie," Euphemia said. Clara Carter looked put off. She was only half-accustomed to the pet names that the Buckley family lathered on each other. She once asked Lelouch if the pet names were their way of asking for her money. He told her they were not.

It smelled like cornbread inside. There was a line to be seated, so they all sat down and looked at the menu that was provided.

"What's pot likker?" Clara Carter asked, peering at the menu. "And why's it spelled like that?"

Lelouch was about to show his true Southern colors and lecture her on the entirety of pot likker's long and not-so-illustrious history. Odysseus had actually written quite passionately about the role of pot likker in Southeastern culinary culture in order to graduate from his History class. He shared it with the family and impressed the socks off of everyone.

Anyway, Southerners were addicted to the stuff. Actually, Southerners weren't the only ones addicted – Marianne Buckley née Devereux fell in love with pot likker the first time she tried it.

"You'll get some for free since it's your first time here," Euphemia told her, cutting Lelouch's lecture short. "You should try it. It's to _die_ for."

She was probably right. There had been incidents in the past where people had beat other people up to get some pot likker.

"If you say so," Clara Carter said uncertainly. "I just wanna know what it is."

"You'll find out," Euphemia said, singsong. "I took Suzaku here on our second date, and he absolutely fell in _love_ with the pot likker once he tried it."

"Tasty stuff," Suzaku agreed. "It kind of tastes like turnip greens, only soupier."

"The hell are turnip greens? You mean the green part of a turnip?" Clara Carter asked, looking at Lelouch. He nodded. "So _that's_ why you never ate the roasted turnips at Christmas."

"They weren't bad, they just weren't turnip greens," Lelouch said.

Turnip greens (and pot likker) were one of the few things Lelouch had missed about the South. They were also the only Southern dish Marianne Buckley née Devereux bothered learning how to cook properly. Everyone in the Buckley family was fanatically addicted to them. Clovis once dumped a woman who didn't like them. Charles was known to refuse to give his blessing to prospective spouses who told him they didn't like turnip greens.

In any case, Clara Carter looked baffled. "I just don't get it," she said. "Who gets the bright idea to eat the green part of a turnip? They think the bulb's just there for decoration? I mean, who _does_ that?"

"Poor, hungry, and ingenious antebellum black cooks," Lelouch replied. "And God bless them."

**. . .**

Over lunch, Lelouch shared the story of Uncle Vladimir to Euphemia and Suzaku.

"Well Lelouch, I'd love to move Vladimir's body to Bulgaria," Euphemia said, "but you just can't stop Daddy when he's got his mind set on something. I thought they were brothers from the way he spoke of him."

"He barely knows him," Lelouch said. "Schneizel's not happy, either. He wouldn't have to hire four policemen and a K-9 unit if Dad would've just given Vladimir to his relatives."

"Well I feel sorry for poor Vladimir," Euphemia declared. "Now I am going to research every nook and cranny of this man's life, and I am going to write a beautiful speech in his honor. He didn't deserve this. He's _kin_. Daddy's gone too far." Her eyes suddenly had a mischievous glint to them. "We should all rebel. Give Daddy a piece of our minds."

Lelouch didn't doubt that the family members would be at a loss for words. What he did doubt, however, was how many would go through with it under the threat of being disinherited.

"I mean, I don't know how many will go along with it…" he said uncertainly. At that moment, the waitress came around and placed their food in front of them. A small bowl filled with green liquid and fried bread was placed in front of Clara Carter. "Oh, hey, there's your pot likker, Clara."

She stared at it. "Looks like nasty-ass soup my mother made me swallow when I was a kid."

"Just eat it," Lelouch sighed. The rest of them had ordered pot likker as well. They were indeed addicted. "You first."

Clara Carter sighed and muttered a prayer underneath her breath. She grabbed a spoon and filled some of it with boiled greens. She ate it as they watched her intensely.

Clara Carter's eyes widened and nearly bulged out of their sockets. "Oh, _God_," she said.

"What?" Lelouch asked worriedly. His bowl of pot likker was soon stolen from under him. "Hey! That's my bowl!"

"Excuse me," Clara Carter said before she shoveled it into her mouth. Lelouch watched her in horror. Suzaku covered his bowl of pot likker in defense.

"I guess she likes it," Euphemia said as she daintily sipped her pot likker.

"Damn straight I do," Clara Carter said. "I want more."

"You have a perfectly good plate of food right there," Lelouch pointed out bitterly.

"I don't care," Clara Carter said. "I'm gonna get more."

Lelouch sighed and ducked his head in embarrassment as Clara Carter flagged down a waitress and ordered more pot likker. Euphemia dabbed at her mouth with her napkin.

"I was thinking we should go on a tour of the Fox Theatre after this," she said. "It's nearby, and nothing's showing in the near future."

"I guess," Lelouch said. "It would be a better way to pass the day than hanging out with Schneizel."

"It's agreed, then," Euphemia said. "Oh, and speaking of Schneizel, be sure to tell him of our plans. He's an eloquent speaker."

Schneizel had once led Georgia State to the debate championships against Wake Forest. He had won. He was naturally good at speaking convincingly, and had a natural predilection towards insulting people without them ever knowing about it.

Even worse, he had grown up in the South, which had both enhanced and encouraged this predilection.

**. . .**

Charles tried to push Schneizel going to the University of Georgia to gain a foothold in the college football tradition of the family, even though none of the Buckley children attended UGA nor had any intentions of doing so. At the time, UGA was a party school. Eventually they became so infamous for this reputation that they began to take steps to improve this reputation by upping the standards for acceptance. However, when Schneizel was ready to go to college, these steps had not yet be taken. Schneizel wasn't even into football. He most certainly would not attend a party school just to appease his father's football fancy.

After much deliberation and pre-professional bullshit, Schneizel finally settled on Georgia State. It didn't have a football team at the time, which upset his father, but he permitted it. By the time it did have a football team, Schneizel had already graduated and didn't care.

**. . .**

The Fox Theatre was an old, former movie palace that had once nearly burned to the ground and been demolished. It possessed the kind of nauseating opulence that could have only come out of the Jazz Age. It had completely captured the imaginations of the Buckley children when they were younger and their father took them to see _Cats_. They didn't pay attention to the cats. They were too busy looking up at the artificial stars in the ceiling.

Lelouch found himself doing the same thing during the tour. He just looked up at the artificial stars and paid no attention to the tour guide. She was talking about the large organ that was as old as the theatre. They called it Mighty Mo.

"Is it true that someone lives here?" a tourist asked.

"Yes, that is true," the tour guide said.

"Can we see his apartment?" someone asked.

"No, you cannot," the tour guide replied. She was referring to the Phantom of the Fox. Rumor had it that he lived in the theatre rent-free and could listen to and even watch the shows that were performed there for free. He had a real name. Nobody bothered to remember it. They thought Phantom of the Fox sounded much cooler.

"How does he get sleep?" Clara Carter asked, raising her hand.

"I'm not sure," the tour guide admitted bashfully. "I guess he just gets used to all the noise."

From that point on, everyone stopped asking questions about the Fox Theatre and instead asked all kinds of personal questions about the Phantom of the Fox, like what kind of toothpaste he used and whether or not he was real. The tour guide was starting to get frustrated.

"Can you imagine living here?" Suzaku asked dreamily as he admired the lavish architecture. "That would be great, listening to all the great shows over the years."

"That and the rent-free part," Lelouch said.

Cornelia had once met the Phantom of the Fox in person. She said he was a hunched-over Southern gentleman with a bit of a twangy accent. "Not quite as mysterious as I had hoped," she had remarked dismissively when the family asked her what it was like.

This not-quite-as-mysterious hunched-over Southern gentleman with a bit of a twangy accent had actually saved the Fox from imminent destruction twice. Cornelia had no such thing to her name. She most inspired terror in the hearts of her employees.

**. . .**

They later made an impromptu detour to the High Museum of Art. Euphemia texted Schneizel that they were taking a detour, so his discussion with Lelouch would have to wait. She also said that they had something important to discuss with him and his wife.

"I don't care that you're going to the High," he texted back. "You are not allowed back in the house if you don't have pot likker."

People took their boiled greens very seriously in the South.

As Suzaku and Clara Carter tried to make sense of the giant canvas in the lobby that was three solid squares of color, Euphemia and Lelouch lowly discussed the cleanliness of Schneizel and Cecile's pool and garden, respectively. Schneizel's pool was unusually luxurious and well-kept, and Cecile's garden was vibrant and exotic. Unsurprisingly, their hobbies were divided between genuine interest and pleasure, and pleasure and interest in something else entirely.

"I mean, come _on_, Lelouch. Why else do you think their backyard is so nice?" Euphemia asked.

"Professional lawn service?" Lelouch sighed. "The more I learn about him, the less I want to stay in that house. Are you sure that Clara and I can't just… sleep on your floor or something?"

"Afraid not. We have no room, not even on the floor. Nunnally's studies occupy a lot of space."

Nunnally lived with Euphemia and Suzaku in their apartment. Lelouch most certainly did not want to disrupt her studies.

"They're nice otherwise, though, right?" Euphemia asked.

"Yeah, I guess by the standard definition of 'nice.' I just can't shake off the creepiness," Lelouch sighed. "I mean, they _try_."

"That's the spirit. They _try,_" Euphemia said, nodding her head. "They're good people beneath all the pretentiousness and creepiness and weird fetishes."

Lelouch agreed with her, but he wasn't sure if that was meant to be a compliment to Schneizel and his wife.

Clara Carter walked up to them. "Modern art is overrated. I can't believe some son of a bitch was paid a fortune to paint a piece of shit like that." She pointed at the large canvas. The colors of the blocks were green, blue, and red, in that order.

"Don't tell your pal Clovis that you said that. He'd tell you something like, like… like how the RGB colors, misarranged, represent the troubling and pervasive influence of technology in modern society," Lelouch said.

"Well you can tell your brother that I think that's a crock of shit, because," Clara Carter began, "it's self-serving. We think that just because we have cameras, we don't have to capture moments of life in oil and canvas anymore. Well lemme tell you, that isn't the case. A good painting can have way more depth and beauty to it than a photo. It's that little something to it, or as the French say, _je ne sais quoi_. So all that piece of shit thing over there amounts to is a hypocritical message on how the pervasive influence of technology in our society has allowed us to get away with creating sub-par, overly-expensive works like _that._"

There was silence as they all stared at Clara Carter.

"Well that's what I think," Clara Carter said. "What's that look on your face for?"

"I love you," Lelouch said.

**. . .**

Clovis created works of modern art like that. He was perfectly trained in the old ways. He just figured that the new modern art movement was big, so he tried to cash in on it.

He once brought a mostly white canvas that had a perfectly black, round outline of a circle in the middle of it to Lelouch's pre-college departure shindig-luncheon.

"What the hell is that?" Lelouch had asked.

"How dare you!" Clovis had exclaimed angrily. "It's _clearly_ Dante and Beatrice beholding the Empyrean splendor of the Trinity!"

Lelouch looked at the canvas. "Okay."

Cornelia and Euphemia had also seen the canvas. "It's nice, Clovis," Euphemia said. She was flattering and polite, as all Southern belles are in excess whenever they are lying through their teeth.

"Sell it to some poor sap for a fortune," Cornelia had said. Clovis later did, actually. He sold it for $10,000 to some obscure art enthusiast who lived in Ohio.

It was with Schneizel and Cecile that Clovis met his match.

"It's Dante and Beatrice beholding the Empyrean splendor of the Trinity," Clovis said proudly.

"It's lovely," Cecile lied. She didn't think it was lovely at all. She was a fan of Matisse, Degas, and Cezanne. "You could illustrate the entirety of _The Divine Comedy_ with this."

As Clovis laughed bashfully, Schneizel shot her a warning look on her praise. They didn't want to be held responsible for prompting the creation of an illustrated minimalist _The Divine Comedy_.

"Well… it would be an interesting project," Clovis gushed.

"Indeed it would," Schneizel said. He raised his wine glass in mock-praise. "You could be the next Gustave Doré, Clovis."

"Who's that?" Clovis asked.

There was silence between them. Schneizel and Cecile's gazes became incredulous and pitying. Clovis' expression began to fall.

"Lovely painting, Clovis," Schneizel said, breaking the silence. "Um, keep up the good work."

"You think about that illustration idea, dear," Cecile told him. "Okay, honey, let's go," she muttered to her husband under her breath. They left without another word.

Later on, someone's child came along and drew stick figures all over Clovis' minimalist rendition of Dante and Beatrice beholding the Empyrean splendor of the Trinity. When he angrily confronted the child and his mother over the ruined state of his incredible masterpiece, the child only had this to say in his defense:

"I thought it was a coloring page, is all," the child said with a nonchalant shrug.

**. . .**

It is actually strange that Clovis would not know who Gustave Doré was. He was a prolific French artist of considerable renown whose claims to fame were his wood engravings for such epic poems as _Paradise Lost _and_ The Divine Comedy_. In fact, when most people imagine scenes from _Paradise Lost_ or _The Divine Comedy_, their mind drifts to Doré's wood engravings.

Stranger still, Doré painted Biblical features gifted with Grecian bodies. And Clovis, having been trained in the old ways of painting, surely must have heard of him at some point.

In any case, Clovis had not heard of Gustave Doré, and he gave up the idea of illustrating _The Divine Comedy_ in a minimalist style between the pitying looks on Schneizel's and Cecile's faces and the child drawing stick figures on his work.

Instead, he moved on to another project: illustrating Coleridge's _Kubla Khan._

That was where Charles drew the last straw. Charles did not think highly of the new art movements in general. Clovis had once shown him modern art. It looked like two vertically rectangular pieces of black plastic in an L shape.

"Isn't it just thought-provoking?" Clovis asked his father. "It cost the museum over $800,000 to feature it."

"That's ridiculous," Charles said. "I was making crud like that when I was half your age, and nobody paid me $800,000 for it."

"No, Dad, it's the philosophy behind it that makes it expensive," Clovis told him. "Less is more. The simpler, the better; and the more beautiful. It's a comment on our overclutterered and hyper-consumer society. I think."

In some cases, this philosophy was very true and relevant to an ever-expanding modern society. It was neither true nor relevant for the Buckley family.

"Freudian bullshit," Charles said dismissively.

Despite this, Charles only permitted his son to create and sell his minimalist artwork because it commanded high prices on the art junkie market. Art enthusiasts bought Clovis' works at silent auctions for ludicrous amounts of money. Nobody quite understood it, not even Schneizel or his worldly Virginian wife of French descent, but they were fine as long as Clovis was living comfortably.

Charles Buckley did not like Samuel Taylor Coleridge. He did not like the poem _Kubla Khan_. He claimed it was the ravings of a drug-addled lunatic. So when Clovis announced his intentions to illustrate the poem, Charles had a terrific fit.

"No Buckley is going to illustrate the ravings of a drug-addled lunatic!" he roared, sending spittle flying all over the table. Viletta the caretaker had to clean it up. "You do that and I will disinherit you!"

So Clovis never illustrated _Kubla Khan_. He also had to throw out a decorative artistic piece he'd been keeping in his loft: a large, dead old tree branch that had an otherworldly look to it. It was from Arizona and had been spraypainted with silver. Charles wondered why Clovis had paid $500 for it.

"It's artistic," Clovis insisted.

"You can get that if you go out in the backyard and spraypaint a tree branch silver," Charles told him. So now Clovis kept the tree branch in a storage room, and nobody tripped over it anymore when they came over to his loft.

In any case, Clovis had never quite been into minimalist or even modern art ever since those incidents. He instead went down the Gustav Klimt road and developed a fascination with the female form.

His father didn't object to his new interest.

**. . .**

The current featured exhibit in the High Museum was all about ukiyo-e artwork, so Suzaku set about explaining the history and techniques behind the craft.

Suzaku actually had an illustrious family history of art, at least on top of his equally illustrious family history of combat and martial arts. His aunt was a sumi-e artist of considerable renown. She sold her masterful artwork for astonishingly high prices out of her humble little art shop in Kyoto. Charles Buckley actually imported one of her ink paintings and hung it in his study, where he observed its serene composition at length.

Suzaku's uncle was an ukiyo-e woodcutter. When Suzaku first visited Japan and his relatives at the age of 8, he set Suzaku to work at the woodcutting shop. Suzaku would never forget the slightly painful and tedious experience, nor would he forget Kaguya splashing a ton of ink all over his favorite shirt.

Kaguya Sumeragi was Suzaku's cousin. She was Nunnally's age. She was set up to follow in the footsteps of her mother the sumi-e artist, but Kaguya didn't have much interest in the craft. She wanted to go shopping in Tokyo and resented living in Kyoto with her parents. Her mother told her that one day she'd regret not learning the old ways. Kaguya didn't listen, as most teenagers tend to do.

In any case, Suzaku had been put to work in his uncle's ukiyo-e workshop every time he went to Japan. He went every summer, for the entire summer. He was more obedient than Kaguya, and his uncle took full advantage of that. Suzaku had been lectured, taught, and worked to his limits. As a result, he was actually a relatively skilled ukiyo-e artist and printmaker. That was how he first captured Euphemia's attention: for a class project, he made an ukiyo-e print, and it impressed the socks off of Euphemia.

Euphemia made this very clear to Lelouch when she watched Suzaku lecture Clara Carter. "Did you know that Suzaku was an artist?" she asked. "He makes woodprints just like these. Well, not quite as elaborate, but it's just _amazing_. His uncle in Kyoto teaches him. Isn't that just so unique?"

"Actually, yes," Lelouch admitted. Woodcutting seemed more impressive to him than most of what Clovis had churned out. Clovis was not a bad artist or designer, at least professionally, but his personal artistic pursuits were sometimes questionable.

"Lelouch," Euphemia said, her eyes suddenly becoming sad, "are you really and truly going to reconcile with Schneizel?"

"I don't know," Lelouch replied uneasily. "He's kind of… creepy. I don't really like him, to be honest. But he's my brother, so I feel it's almost necessary."

"Kin's kin," Euphemia agreed, nodding.

Lelouch hated to admit it, but the South had rubbed off on him more than he thought.

He wasn't 100% on board with reconciling with Schneizel, however. He didn't have any old grudge. He only had an old fear. That was the fear of Schneizel overtly liking him. Lelouch eventually realized that sometimes Schneizel liking someone was much worse than him not liking someone. He'd always liked Lelouch; he just learned to turn down the extent of his brotherly affection once Lelouch left for college. Lelouch preferred it that way.

To give an example of Schneizel overtly and quite obviously liking someone, there was Cecile. There was also Bartley Aspirus, but Lelouch wasn't sure he really counted. Bartley was both friend and incredibly expensive machine part.

In any case, Schneizel now wanted to restore their relationship to its former status. It was the last thing Lelouch wanted. Schneizel and his overbearing brotherly attitude were major factors in Lelouch's decision to flee Atlanta.

"Lelouch, you aren't _afraid_ to reconcile, are you?" Euphemia asked.

"I'm not afraid of reconciliation; I'm afraid that Schneizel's going to suffocate me with his… everything," Lelouch said. He waved his arms about for emphasis. He did this more often nowadays. It was a habit he picked up from spending a lot of time with Clara Carter's Italian family. "You remember how he was. It drove me out of the state."

"Then just tell him to lay off the smothering," Euphemia sighed. "Honestly, now. He's a grown man, Lelouch. He can step back when necessary."

"You _just_ told me how Schneizel cleans the pool and 'helps' Cecile garden. And you want me to trust that guy to not smother the hell out of me?"

There was silence between them.

"So maybe not now," Euphemia said. "But soon. In the meantime, you're going to have to think of some pretty convincing BS to stall for time."

"Believe me, I'm trying."

It would have probably been slightly easier to think of convincing lies if Schneizel's entire profession wasn't based around convincing lies. Schneizel was a professional bullshitter.

**. . .**

Now that Lelouch was back in Atlanta, he had this to say about the High Museum of Art:

It was not very impressive.

Most of the family members didn't like it. They only went because they felt the need to add some culture to their lives. The only family member that really enjoyed the High Museum of Art was Clovis Buckley.

That was because Marianne Buckley née Devereux had brought him there quite a bit when he was a young boy. She wasn't particularly educated in art, but she would point out the beauty and the power behind art to Clovis.

She did this to every Buckley child, but Clovis was the only one that actually wanted to keep going back. When Marianne died, he painted a series of paintings that could have sold for an absurd amount of money in the silent auctions, if only he would put them up. Instead, he kept them hidden away in his loft somewhere.

All of the paintings had to do with disasters at sea. The collective series was fittingly called _Disasters at Sea!_

**. . .**

You may be wondering about the exact details of Marianne Buckley née Devereux's freak boating accident on Lake Lanier that ultimately led to her untimely demise.

Nobody in the family wanted to discuss or remember it. It was uncomfortable for them. Charles Buckley even briefly questioned his faith when he heard how Marianne died.

In any case, it involved a piece of overgrown mutant algae, a lost and rare crane that hailed from Australia, an explosion, and sand.

The Buckley family dealt with her death in strange and various ways.

Charles Buckley married another trophy wife. She actually divorced him after a very unfortunate encounter with Cornelia's Rottweiler-German Shepard mix. That was when he married Carlotta, whom he eventually divorced after Cecile Buckley née Charpentier smashed a turkey over her head.

Odysseus adopted three more cats. Guinevere considered hiring the hitman to assassinate Charles, only to eventually confide in Viletta the caretaker that she had fears of damnation.

Cornelia shipped all of her Auburn memorabilia to a tightly-guarded vault in Switzerland. She then went on to earn her double black belt in a variety of martial arts and eventually marry Gilbert Gammond.

Clovis moved to Little Five Points after painting _Disasters at Sea!_ His Las Vegas trips became more frequent and he started using a variety of interlinked bank accounts to hide his activities from his father.

Euphemia made the decision to attend medical school rather than go on to inherit her father's women's apparel manufacturer.

Nunnally briefly moved in with Odysseus and mourned her mother like any normal daughter would.

Schneizel married Cecile.

Lelouch went to Boston.

**. . .**

They returned to Schneizel's house after eating a snack-dinner at a pretentiously-named bar bistro that was near the High Museum of Art. Schneizel complained about it when they found him and his wife in the study.

"Good Lord, you smell like beer," he said, fanning the air in front of him. Lelouch thought the smell of beer was quite nice, but apparently his brother didn't agree. "None of you are drunk, are you?"

"No," Lelouch said. "Nobody here likes beer."

"Do you have the pot likker?" Schneizel asked him.

"We put it on the kitchen counter," Euphemia replied. "There's no need to get out the electric chicken cutter."

That seemed to please Schneizel. Their conversation, if it could be called that, faded into awkward silence. Lelouch looked around the study. He didn't often go in the study, if only because it was a perfect place for Schneizel to ensnare someone in conversation. He noticed an obnoxiously large picture above the fireplace mantle. It was Schneizel and Cecile on their wedding day.

Euphemia followed his gaze. "Oh, the portrait came out lovely, Schneizel."

Lelouch felt his stomach drop. He quickly diverted his gaze and began to slowly edge towards the study doors.

"You like it?" Schneizel asked enthusiastically. "Clovis helped with the posing and everything. We wound up standing there for two hours, but I suppose the end result was worth it."

"Clovis was so _fussy_ that day. I never heard of a best man breaking into the bride's dressing room to do her hair."

Lelouch made his way over to Clara Carter and nudged her. "Help."

"What?" she hissed.

"_Help_," Lelouch whispered. "I never went to their goddamn wedding."

"Well then that sounds like a personal problem," Clara Carter retorted. "Tough shit."

"And what a lovely wedding gown," Euphemia commented.

"Yes," Schneizel said, pleased. He put his hands on his wife's shoulders and began to massage them. If possible, Lelouch was now even more uncomfortable than he was before.

Lelouch would later figure out that her wedding dress was a gift from an old Charpentier family friend who conveniently happened to be the chief designer of an haute couture house. He would figure out a few things about Cecile and her somewhat foggy family history. It would become apparent later in the week when they had that unfortunate collective family dinner where Charles lost his temper over Sriracha sauce.

In any case, Schneizel now directed his attention to Lelouch. "It's such a shame you missed the wedding, Lelouch," he said mournfully.

"I hadn't figured out the mail system at my university yet," Lelouch said. "I would've come."

Lelouch really wouldn't have come – in all likelihood, he probably would have torn the invitation up, if the disgruntled mailman hadn't already thrown it into the incinerator after it sat in the mail room for two weeks.

"It was quite the spectacle," Cecile said. "Everything was so crazy. It would have been so nice to have you there to just ground everyone in reality."

"What?" Lelouch sputtered. "Me? Ground people in reality?"

"You'd have made the bachelor party more tolerable," Schneizel said. "Clovis dumped champagne over one of the groomsmen."

Lelouch was now very glad he had missed the wedding.

"I kind of liked it," Euphemia said. "Cornelia's wedding was so cut-and-dry. It was _so_ boring."

Lelouch had also missed Cornelia and Gilbert Gammond's wedding. He'd figured out the mail system at his university by then, but he was unfortunately on a class field trip to Easter Island to observe the effects of rapidly-expanding, uncontrolled development and natural resource depletion. That took up another two weeks, and the disgruntled mailman once more tossed the wedding invitation down the incinerator.

The disgruntled mailman secretly wondered why Lelouch was getting invited to so many weddings.

In any case, Euphemia cleared her throat and decided to get back on topic. "Um, about that important thing we wanted to discuss."

"What is it?" Schneizel asked.

"It's about Vladimir and Daddy."

"Oh." Schneizel blinked. "Oh. Lelouch told you?"

"Vladimir's _kin_, and I don't think Daddy can do this to him," Euphemia declared. "I was wondering if you would write a speech alongside us to honor Vladimir's life."

Schneizel shook his head. Lelouch half-expected him to do that. "I'm afraid we can't help. Cecile and I have other things to deal with regarding Vladimir."

Suzaku looked as if a snake was creeping into the room. "Other things to deal with? Is it his family?"

"Yes. His family is trying to take us to court and contest the will. Normally, we'd plead no contest and let them take Vladimir home, especially since his wishes are so explicitly spelled out, but…" Here, Schneizel sighed. "_Dad._"

**. . .**

Here was the story:

Vladimir's family from Bulgaria was taking the Buckley family to court to contest the will of their deceased relative. Despite the objections of everyone around him as well as the very clearly stated wishes of Vladimir, Charles Buckley was absolutely determined to bury his spiritual cousin-brother-in-arms on American soil. Vladimir was going to be buried in Atlanta or Charles would die trying.

And here was Schneizel's solution to this problem:

Declare Charles Buckley mentally unsound and incompetent, throw him in an assisted care home, and settle the matter of Vladimir's will behind their father's half-senile back.

**. . .**

Lelouch wasn't entirely sure how to feel about the situation as he escorted Euphemia and Suzaku to the door. Neither was Euphemia.

"I don't know what to think," she murmured.

"Schneizel's making his move, that's what," Lelouch said. "Well, nobody can deny that we wanted something like this to happen."

"Well… that's true," Euphemia admitted regretfully. Suzaku squeezed her hand.

Lelouch had been waiting for his father to go to an elderly care home since the beginning of his awkward and gangly high school years. Schneizel and Cecile had been waiting since Charles' interference forced them to honeymoon in the Florida panhandle. There was nothing wrong with the Florida panhandle. It was a very scenic part of the Gulf of Mexico. It was so scenic, in fact, that movies were shot in its various seaside communities. With that being said, it was not quite the Las Vegas trip that the couple had been hoping for. And to make matters worse, a hurricane hit the part of the panhandle they were honeymooning in during their honeymoon.

Charles had been upset about it. "I can send you on another trip. No cost is too big." Schneizel was the only child Charles would say that to. "What about Jekyll Island? It's pretty. And you two can spend some good money there."

"No, thank you," Schneizel had said hurriedly. "Our honeymoon was great. We, um, were able to connect really well after the hurricane blew out the electricity for the entire high rise."

Charles had laughed. "Ah, to be young. Don't be _too_ crazy now, son."

"Ha ha. Yeah. Crazy," Schneizel had laughed uneasily.

Again, nothing was wrong with Jekyll Island. It was actually a rather quaint place. The couple – that is to say, Cecile – had a very specific checklist of what constituted a proper island getaway. One of the items on that very specific checklist was that the island in question must not be within 250 miles of the contiguous United States. Jekyll Island did not obey that rule.

In any case, Lelouch wondered about the stability of the family when Charles Buckley eventually realized his favorite son was sending him to an assisted care home. Charles Buckley did not like assisted care homes.

"They turn you into robots," he told the family over one Father's Day brunch. "They all eat tapioca. They all play Bingo three days a week. It's insane. I'm perfectly normal, see?" After that, Charles poured cranberry sauce into his coffee and he had to get a new cup.

"Maybe it won't be so bad," Euphemia tried to reason. "I mean, he _is_ getting a little crazy… there's a lot of evidence to prove it. He might see reason if Schneizel catches him at the right time."

There was a lot of evidence to prove that Vladimir didn't want to be buried on American soil, most especially by the man whom he had loathed for half of his adult life, but that hadn't stopped Charles Buckley.

"Well, we'll see," Lelouch sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow for the official family funeral arrangements."

"Okay. The day after tomorrow, we're driving out to Savannah so we can get material for the speech. It'll be early in the morning, so you might want to do all your reconciling tomorrow."

Lelouch sighed again. "Euphy, I'm not—"

"Oh, hush," she shushed him. "It's really tearing Schneizel up. He's getting all stressed. Couldn't you tell?"

"No. He looked the same to me. If anything, I thought Cecile was stressed because he started massaging _her_ shoulders."

"That's how he tells her he's stressed, so she can help him with, um, stress relief," Euphemia told him.

"What kind of ass-backwards logic is that?!" Clara Carter interjected. Her mouth had been twitching the entire time the conversation was taking place. "It's like self-serving, but not."

"That's Schneizel logic," Lelouch said.

"Anyway," Euphemia said crossly, "between Vladimir and putting Daddy in the assisted retirement home and everything in between, Schneizel's stressed. And it would really help him if you two would make up. You don't have to do it now, but sooner would be better than later. You _are_ staying with him after all, and Cecile can only do so much."

Lelouch's face paled.

"See y'all tomorrow!" Euphemia said brightly before leaving.

**. . .**

Staying with a frustrated Schneizel was unpleasant.

And if Cecile couldn't help, she'd quickly become frustrated, too. Both Schneizel and Cecile were very proud of their abilities to help their spouse, from hiring policemen and K-9 units to gardening help to stress relief. If their methods failed, they became very unpleasant very quickly.

In any case, it was doubly and completely unpleasant all around. It was one step short of smashing a turkey over someone's head.

**. . .**

Lelouch and Clara Carter retreated to their room to discuss what Lelouch would say.

"I don't want to stay with your brother when he's irritated," Clara Carter said. "He's already damn creepy when he's normal."

"I know that," Lelouch snapped. "But Christ – I don't want him to smother me. I really, really, _really_ don't want him to smother me. I guess what I mean to say is that I don't want to be associated with him."

"Then just be frank with him," Clara Carter said. "You tell that asshole that it's all okay if you two are pals again, but that you'd really prefer it if he stayed the hell away from you."

"I can't do that," Lelouch hissed. "We can't do that down here."

"Well 'down here' could really benefit from a bit of truth!" Clara Carter retorted. "All of you are saying one thing and doing another. So why don't you just be honest about it? You don't even have to be rude or whatever. Just be honest."

"Because that's acknowledging that there is a problem," Lelouch said.

"You can't fix a problem if you don't face it," said Clara Carter. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. You've let this drag on for years, haven't you? All this make-believe niceness."

"Look, you witch—"

They were interrupted by the sudden and very loud wail of the bed springs in the room next door to them. Schneizel and Cecile had decided on their stress-relief routine of the night. It apparently involved almost every room in the house.

Cecile warned Schneizel to not be so loud or else their guests would hear. He did not heed that warning.

"God_dammit_," Clara Carter said emphatically. "If you don't say something tomorrow, Lelouch, I swear on my life that I am going to make you go up to him and tell the truth straight to his face, so help me God."

Lelouch knew Clara Carter well.

And he also knew that she knew the location of the electric chicken cutter in the house. She'd keep to her word.

* * *

**Oh, this family. So dysfunctional. So Southern.**

**I also only realized after re-posting this chapter that I have an edit/replace chapter function. I don't normally write multi-chapter, periodically-updated stories, so I think my awkward greenhorn-ness is showing here.**

**Aaanyway, all awkwardness aside, please review if you enjoyed this chapter or the story overall!**


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